


Staying Up

by lokidiabolus



Series: Staying Up [1]
Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: AU, M/M, Newt is a bit snappy in here, and another series, another silly thing, may get angsty as well, writer x editor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-20 09:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 60,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2424356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokidiabolus/pseuds/lokidiabolus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newt is a professional. He always takes his work seriously, mainly because the fact he really enjoys reading and being, even a little, part of the creation. Apart from his deadly honesty occasionally clashing with people around him he also prefers staying alone. It all changes when a random stranger offers him a scarf on the street, and the domino effect threatens to take him along with the tumble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Scarf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So?” Alby pressed. “What do you think?”  
> “You can’t be serious,” Newt snapped back from the ring to Alby’s face. “A ring? A proposal?”  
> “Yeah,” Alby shrugged, holding the box carefully in his big hand. “Thought it’s the right time.”

The city never slept – not at midnight when you could hear various screams under your window, police sirens passing in the distance or a devious barking and meowing somewhere too close for the comfort. And it definitely did not sleep in the morning, when everyone was getting up to go to work, or was just returning from it.

Newt got used to the constant buzz that accompanied him at each hour a day. Sudden silence would probably make him more uncomfortable than a louder version of the current chatter.

His neighbours were quiet most of the time – older people, fairly nice when they didn’t meet their even older counterparts in the hallway. You would be surprised how much noise (especially quarrels about not locking the entrance doors, having the TV too loud or leaving their shoes unattended – “It’s like inviting robbers in! Don’t you want to put your jewels outside too, so they have it easier?!”) can two couples of seniors create at eleven in the evening. When he was very unlucky and got caught in the middle of their spat, he had to reconcile to the fact he is stuck for at least 20 minutes while nodding or shaking head, and occasionally saying: “Oh yeah, without a doubt, Mrs. Harris.” Or “I’d never think otherwise Mr. Andrews.”

It might have been a cause of today’s speedy departure he made – he hadn’t even finished his tea when he heard one doors open and an elderly voice bristling about an umbrella hung up in front of the other’s people flat. It made him jump to his feet, grab a coat, put on shoes and shot out of the flat as fast as he could, only saying a hasty: “Good morning Mrs. Harris!” while the silver haired woman greeted him back in sugary voice, and said something about the weather he didn’t quite catch.

It made sense once he exited the house – a swept of icy cold wind almost froze him on spot, the grey, sad looking sky threatened with rain, or god forbid, snow, and he immediately regretted his recklessness. He shook from head to toe even when he put on his coat, his bare neck taking the worst of it, and for a second he thought about going back and live through another 20 minutes long lecture. But his watch already displayed there was no time left for that, and he had to, like it or not, go on.

It took him a lot to keep his teeth from chattering while he walked along the busy street, his right leg despising the cold already, sending an unpleasant strings of pain through him. As he tried to ignore the uncomfortable spikes he almost run into a group of people waiting at the bus station already, stopping so-so in front of the first one. He quickly changed his way and awkwardly fell behind the biggest mass, clutching the coat closer to his body. The wind was unmerciful, and he felt the waves of it pushing him around like a paper doll. October? It felt more like November, the chill creeping up on the city without warning.

“Wow, you look like you are going to freeze any second,” a voice suddenly pierced his consciousness and Newt jolted back to the reality, looking up to a young man standing next to him, watching him expectantly. He blinked few times, his brain quickly going through all the faces he knew, but finding no one who would be this guy with brown messy hair matching the same coloured eyes and strangely cocky smirk on his face as if he already had a predestined upper hand in everything. Newt shuffled and cleared his throat.

“It’s kinda cold,” he admitted, not very keen on diving into a conversation with a random stranger at a bus stop. Not to mention he already stood a bit too close for his comfort.

“Here,” the brunet unwounded his scarf quickly, offering it to Newt with a smile on his lips. “I was planning on donating it to goodwill anyway. You look like you need it more.”

“Uh…”

“Take it, I insist.”

Newt brows furrowed, staring back at the grey scarf doubtfully as if it somewhat offended him, and the guy chuckled, taking the garment back.

“It’s not like it’s a snake that’s going to strangle you, yeah?” he remarked while spreading the scarf along its lines and dusting it a little, as if he was showing there really wasn’t anything threatening in it. Newt forced down an urge to step away from the stranger and just stayed quiet, leaving him do what he wanted, until he suddenly moved back into Newt’s personal space and put the scarf around his neck quickly, tied it in a neat knot, grinning happily at his masterpiece.

“There,” he exclaimed, almost as if he said _tadah!_ “Now it should be better.”

If Newt hadn’t been so bewildered, he would probably react sooner. But before it all got to him the stranger was already leaving, whistling happily in the howling wind, leaving dumbfounded Newt behind him.

“What the…?”

***

“Finally, man,” a strong grip on his arm dragged him immediately sideways when he entered the office and Newt almost stumbled over his own feet before he finally got stopped in a little kitchen. A broad dark-skinned man with wide smile stood in front of him, looking genuinely happy he saw him, grasping his arm firmly.

“Ouch, what the hell,” Newt shook his hand down, rubbing the place with a frown. “What’s gotten into you? And why the hell are you wearing suspenders?”

He couldn’t overlook the shiny red lines on the guy’s wide chest, and the first thing that came into his mind included a circus.

“Clara likes them,” his colleague shrugged, pulling at them with a grin, “feels hipster.”

“Geez, Alby,” Newt rolled his eyes. “We used to wear them in where… elementary school maybe? Everyone _hated_ it.”

“Well aren’t you a ray of sunshine right in the morning,” Alby crossed his arms on the chest, looking him over. “Rough night? Not enough sleep? Your neighbours flooded your flat?”

“No, no and no, now why did you drag me all over here?” the blond stared him down, his mood dropping dangerously low. He felt chilled to the bone and his leg hurt like a bitch. He just wanted to sit down for a while, catch a breath, and get warmer.

Alby watched him suspiciously for a while longer before rummaging through his back pocket and pulling out a small, black, velvety box. Newt’s eyes widened a fraction, scanning the item profoundly.

“Oh no, you didn’t.”

“Oh I did,” Alby assured him in a serious tone.

“The hell…”

A soft click escaped the room and the box revealed a neat silver ring with a shining gem in the middle, looking like a crown. Newt was pretty sure it was the cutest ring ever if you liked that sort of thing, slim and carefully made.

“So?” Alby pressed. “What do you think?”

“You can’t be serious,” Newt snapped back from the ring to Alby’s face. “A ring? A proposal?”

“Yeah,” Alby shrugged, holding the box carefully in his big hand. “Thought it’s the right time.”

“You know her for half year, Alby, that’s not really the _right time,_ ” Newt opposed and closed the box for him hastily. It made him uneasy to think about it.

Marriages. Relationships. Commitments. Responsibilities for someone else. All the same, ending bad.

“Can you at least _pretend_ you are happy for me?” Alby sighed deeply, his expression a little tired. Newt straightened his shoulders, pressing his lips together in irritation.

“Sure, buddy. I am bloody happy for you.”

With that he turned around and left Alby in the kitchen all alone, marching through the office quickly. He knew he was a jerk friend, never really supportive, but honesty was something he treasured, even when people were happier with a white lie. He never used that, and his colleagues already knew if they didn’t want to hear the truth, they shouldn’t be talking to him. He knew Alby for _years_ now, but he never really celebrated his newly found girlfriend – now apparently a future fiancé. Alby was a good guy, supportive, people loved him. He could take care of anyone, talk with everybody, help with basically everything. But he was never a patient person when it came to his personal life – he moved in with Clara after two weeks of their relationship and now he wanted to marry her after half a year. If Newt knew something about relationships it was that they needed time to actually know if they are worth it. With Alby this whole logic just crashed and burned.

He sat heavily in his chair, making the whole table shake for a second, and let out a sigh. His watch showed 8 in the morning and he already felt dead tired. What was he going to do at the end of the day? Crawl back home?

“Oh, nice scarf,” a female voice jolted him up from the apathy he felt into and he quickly looked up at a black haired girl in a snug tank top and jeans, looking deviously pleased with herself.

“Warn a guy before, will ya,” he mumbled a little shaken and she smiled sweetly at him, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Just complimented you, you don’t need to go all snappy on me,” she said pointedly, swinging her hair from the shoulder. “Besides, the chief wants you in his office.”

“Oh joy,” he muttered and she winked at him. Definitely knew what’s going on, damn her.

“Oh, by the way,” she said when he finally dragged himself up again. “You are Aries, right?”

“Huh?”

“Zodiac,” she explained a little impatiently and Newt nodded with a confused look on his face.

“Right,” she pulled out a newspaper from under her arm, and trailed the page with her finger until she pointed at one paragraph. “Aries. Today you will get challenged. Do not back down, it is an important moment. Don’t underestimate your partner, take them for a nice dinner, the argument should be forgotten by tonight if you work hard.”

“Ugh,” he pinched bridge of his nose. “Really? This stuff is annoying.”

“But now you are going to think about it,” she grinned. “And at some point it surely will become relevant.

“Like right now, the biggest challenge is to walk away from you without taking the newspaper and smack you with it,” he remarked back and she stuck out her tongue out before leaving him alone.

***

The Chief’s office was fairly busy by this hour and Newt had to wait for ten minutes in front of it before the Chief told him to come on in and close the door. Newt sat down almost immediately, making his leg a little less strained. The bad weather made him hate his life at times.

“I need you to take Gally’s client,” the Chief, a slender pale man with bald head and strict exterior, started talking right away, digging a file from a drawer under his desk. “You have no pressing commitments right now, am I correct?”

“Well, yes, but-,”

“I need this guy to get the book done. And I need him to be satisfied with our services as well,” the Chief interrupted him uncompromisingly. “There is no in between.”

“Alright,” Newt backed down a little, sensing the zero choice he had. “What was wrong with Gally?”

“They didn’t really like each other,” his boss replied calmly, but Newt could see under the cold exterior it bothered him. “And we can’t afford an editor who dislike his client, can we.”

“Yes, Chief,” Newt nodded with a tight voice. If the writer disliked Gally or vice versa, Newt was pretty sure it’s going to end up the same with him. He and Gally were similar in a way – saying what they thought aloud, although Gally had always been very ambitious. Maybe even a little forceful, voicing his opinions and preferences without shame. Newt held back at that point, but his snarky remarks and zero tolerance for stupidity made a dangerous mix with most of the writers they had to work with. As an editor Newt always remained professional, but even he had moments when enough was enough and he just had to leave the client for someone else. The Chief was never happy with him when it happened, but changed the client anyway.

“Newton,” the Chief called him warningly. “Don’t mess this up. It’s a talented writer, has a lots of potential. He just needs a supervisor, a little nudge here and there.”

“Am I going to play a nanny?” Newt held back a groan and Chief’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“You are going to play what he needs. Are we clear?”

“Perfectly,” Newt uttered, his fingers curling into a fist. “When do I start?”

“Right now,” the Chief announced and pushed the file into his arms. “I’ve already informed him about your visit. I am sure you can manage from now on. The address is in the file, as well as his telephone number and e-mail address.”

Any other questions Newt had got away when a knock ended the discussion like a guillotine.

***

“So you got the Pretty face, huh,” Gally’s voice greeted him right when he exited the Chief’s office, clutching the file in his hand. “I almost feel sorry for you, mate.”

Newt glanced at the tall brown haired man with exasperation and waved the file at him.

“What was so bad you backed down? Doesn’t sound like you.”

“I just can’t stand a lack of brain in a person,” Gally shrugged, hands in pockets. “That guy is annoying and we just sort of clashed. Happens.”

“Superb,” Newt muttered unhappily. “And his writing?”

“Not bad,” the other editor admitted. “He _is_ good, I won’t lie. Just with a bad approach to this. Attitude problems. Zero responsibility issue.”

“Pretty face?” Newt asked with raised eyebrows and Gally snorted.

“Yeah, girls call him Pretty face in here. You will see.”

“Fuck my life,” Newt grumbled and with Gally’s laughter behind him left the office back into the chilly weather.

***

Finding the right house, floor and flat was surprisingly easy, and Newt found himself knocking at the door at fairly early hour. The house was simple, nothing fancy, and he felt himself relax a little when he heard footsteps approaching from the other side.

The door swung open several seconds later and revealed a young black haired Asian man in a classy white shirt. He looked Newt over up and down and his face broke into a lazy smile. He leaned over the door and Newt got a little nervous.

“Are you Tho-,”

“I can be whatever you want me to be,” the man leered and it cut every thought Newt had at the moment.

“Who is it?” sounded from within the flat and the man didn’t even glance back when he answered with: “I dunno, a cute guy.”

“I am New-,”

Before he even could finish the thought, another young person appeared, but at that moment Newt recoiled, watching the familiar brown haired man in the doorway.

“Hey, it’s you!” the stranger from the bus stop exclaimed happily. “That was fast, wow. If you are here because of the scarf-.”

“Oh, that scarf did look a bit familiar,” the Asian one mused in meantime and Newt groaned internally. He absolutely forgot he was still wearing that thing and quickly grabbed it to pull it off him.

“I am not here because of this,” Newt uttered, pushing the offensive garment back into the stranger’s arms, earning a confused look in return. “I am the new editor-,”

“No way,” the brunet’s face lit up like Christmas tree. “That’s amazing! What a coincidence, right? Must be fate! Come on, come in, I am Thomas. Minho, get out of the way!

“What am I, a dog?” the black haired man _tsked_ , but disappeared inside the flat with a shrug, leaving Newt and Thomas alone at the doorstep.

“Sorry about that, he is lacking manners,” Thomas grinned at him and it immediately reminded Newt about the “Pretty face” nickname they apparently gave him in the office. He wouldn’t lie; the guy was attractive in his own way – big brown Bambi eyes and all, his smile radiating friendliness, if you liked that sort of thing. “I got a call you are coming, but it was faster than I thought.”

“I see,” Newt said shortly, nodding when Thomas got out of the way to let him inside the flat. The room was pleasantly warm and spacy, Newt noted right away. A computer sat at opposite wall with opened document at the monitor, and several stacks of books surrounded it, along with two cups standing at the table and dirty dishes next to it.

“Sorry for the mess,” Thomas apologized, watching Newt a little sheepishly. “I am not really big at that.”

“He would drown in garbage, that’s what he is,” Minho suddenly appeared from the kitchen, or at least what Newt assumed the door he exited led to. “So that went fast, right? That previous guy was a dickhead.”

“Gally is a little unorthodox,” Newt opposed coldly. “But he is an excellent editor.”

“I don’t doubt he is, he edited my good mood in a second,” Minho snickered and Thomas shushed him, watching Newt frowning at that.

“Yeah, sorry about the change, it just didn’t really work out,” the brunet apologized profusely. “I hope it didn’t make a mess in your schedules or something. I thought I can go without an editor, but got assured it’s not a problem.”

“It’s not,” Newt nodded shortly. “Although it was fast, I didn’t have time to even look what I am dealing with. Do you have a manuscript somewhere I can borrow?”

“Yeah, sure,” Thomas quickly hopped to his computer, rummaged through drawers and pulled out a stack of neatly bound papers, handing them to Newt with a nervous smile.

“It’s just a beginning, three chapters, so…”

“Did Gally edit it already?” Newt quickly went through it, noting some words to pinpoint already and Thomas shook his head.

“No. Well. Yes, a bit of a first chapter before we got um… off the track,” he pushed his hands to the jeans’ pocket and swung on his feet like a restless child.

“Alright.”

Newt smoothened the binding patiently, searching for what else he should ask for or say, but nothing really came to his mind.

“I will read it and send you some more info later,” he said probably a little too unattached and Thomas nodded quietly. “Take care till then.”

“Uh, wait,” the writer stopped him quickly when Newt turned away to leave. “Don’t you wanna stay at least for a coffee or something? So we can, you know, get to know each other better?”

He seemed strangely hopeful and Newt’s stomach twisted at the sight unpleasantly.

“No, thanks,” he uttered and raised the binding. “Have lots of work now.”

“Yeah… right, sorry,” Thomas’ face fell at that a little. “Thanks again. Sorry for the trouble.”

“Happens,” the blond shrugged, reaching for the door. “Will text you around the evening I suppose.”

“Cool,” he heard Thomas saying and grabbed the handle. Before he could pull it open, a scarf landed around his neck again, tucked neatly under his coat by Thomas hands.

“I don’t really-,” he started but Thomas rose his hand to stop him.

“It’s pretty cold. Just keep it. Please,” he said in a small voice. “For me.”

For some unexplainable reason Newt did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo anxious about this piece! QQ  
> I also used one of the prompt from Julie95 (the autumn edition) <3  
> It may be more angsty in this one, since Newt can get a little dark at times x.x (sorry about that!)
> 
> As always - English is not my first language, therefore I am terribly sorry for mistakes x.x  
> Thank you for reading!  
> I'd love to hear what you think about it! :) *nervous sweating*


	2. Text

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Pacific Rim,” he repeated lamely.  
> “Cool movie,” a swarthy man stopped at his table, smirking. “Didn’t know you are a fan of that?”  
> “I haven’t seen it,” Newt shrugged, flipping his phone back on the table without a reply.  
> “You totally should!” his colleague smiled brightly, turning fully towards Newt with an apparent wish to talk more. “It’s about giant robots! Who doesn’t like that, right?”

_The smothered fiery landscape run a long, hot line through the horizon, suffocating any other color he saw. The dampness of his skin collided painfully with the scorching heat of the desert, miniature particles of the omnipresent sand scraping him everywhere, filling his nostrils, clawing in his throat, stinging in his eyes. Breathing hurt and every other step pained him. The desperation clung to his mind like a disease, corrupting thoughts and distorting body from the inside. How long had he been walking? How-_

A loud melodic notification almost threw Newt off the chair and his heart probably skipped one or two beats before resuming its pace. The phone went dark again after delivering an obnoxiously loud text, resting on Newt’s table peacefully.

“Bloody hell…” he fumed under his breath, putting the binding on the side grudgingly. The text drew him in like a twister he forgot about his surroundings for a moment, sitting in a busy office, and he let it go with dissatisfaction.

**_-Hey, it’s Thomas!-_ **

The text started and Newt froze. He quickly checked the time but it showed a little after 1 PM, so he wasn’t late with the promised update.

**_-Sorry to be a bother, but I just realized I don’t even know your name?-_ **

“Ah,” Newt replayed their meeting in his head and realized that he really didn’t introduce himself – even that he tried to at the beginning ( _a plus point_ , he mused to himself).

**_-I know you are busy and all, I just thought about it, assumed asking never hurt anyone, yeah? :-) T.-_ **

He reread the text two more times and sighed. Thomas was apparently one of those authors who wanted to “bond” with their editors, probably felt the need to have someone closer to help them than a random person they knew only rarely. Newt didn’t do that, ever. He strove to keep the relationship professional for the sake of the book, knowing very well the downfalls of getting too close to the client – a sudden overlooking of things he would normally ticked as unfit, just because he _knew_ it’s how his _friend_ writes. It could harm the overall piece, and in this case it would be a huge loss.

He pressed _answer_ and paused for a while, thinking of an appropriate response.

**- _It’s Newton_.-**

He typed shortly, looking over it and then hit send with a shrug. What else should he write, right? He asked only for a name after all.

He put the phone back down, reaching for the binding again, but before he could even find the last paragraph he ended at, the phone beeped again.

**_-Oh, like from the Pacific Rim? Can I call you Newt?-_ **

“Pacific Rim,” he repeated lamely.

“Cool movie,” a swarthy man stopped at his table, smirking. “Didn’t know you are a fan of that?”

“I haven’t seen it,” Newt shrugged, flipping his phone back on the table without a reply.

“You totally should!” his colleague smiled brightly, turning fully towards Newt with an apparent wish to talk more. “It’s about giant robots! Who doesn’t like that, right?”

“I’m not a huge fan,” a black haired girl stopped at the table as well, arms full of papers. “Not to mention the movie was stupid.”

“That was the _point_ ,” the man replied with a glare towards her. “Girls don’t understand.”

“Oh how mature, Winston,” she patted him on his cheek sweetly. “Is this how you justify the lack of dates? Because girls don’t understand your love for giant robots?”

“Shove it, Teresa,” he grumbled and stalked away like a tsunami, leaving her alone with Newt.

“He is so easy to piss off, did you notice?” she glanced back at Newt with a cheerful smile. “It’s like taunting a kid.”

“Finding a sheer pleasure in this also makes you immature, are you aware of that?” Newt raised an eyebrow at her and she twirled a strand of her raven hair between her fingers.

“I am not saying the opposite,” she remarked and sat on the edge of Newt’s table with a curious expression. “So how was the Pretty face?”

“Not so pretty,” he said flatly. _Not my type at least_ , he added to himself.

“Aw, you didn’t like him?” she teased him in a lower voice. “I think he is really cute.”

“I think he would suck in bed,” Newt replied while reaching for the binding again. He needed to read it so he could start working, but Teresa ignored his meaningful gesture and leaned a little closer.

“Maybe he would _suck_ well in bed, you never know?”

He almost dropped the print and her giggle informed him she noticed.

“Teresa, for god’s sake, I need to work,” he grumbled, trying to push down the sudden hotness rising up to his cheeks. He hated her double meaning remarks she kept on throwing at him lately, but she apparently relished it, because she ruffled his hair with a smile before jumping off the table and leaving for her work.

Another beep made Newt groan, fairly sure it’s Thomas again.

**_-I take it as a yes :P-_ **

***

 

> **Hello Thomas,**
> 
> **I’ve went through the manuscript you gave me and here are some first notes I took. I’ve noticed your main character is without a name or a description for the whole time. It gives freedom to the reader I admit, but it is preferred for the character to have a form, at least a foreshadowed one (hair, eyes, posture or maybe a significant mark).**
> 
> **As a reader I enjoyed your describing talent, and except few insignificant changes of a form (or repeated words) I think you are very good at that.**

 

Newt paused, looking over the text, stretching his fingers.

 _Very good_ probably didn’t capture the right feeling Newt had when reading it. The flow of the story devoured his mind, basically enchanted him. He could immediately enter the character’s being, live through his pain and worries, and that was rare, and he _loved it._ But his enthusiasm was very hard to put into right words – his mind supplied all the right superlatives, but they sounded empty and unfulfilled. He wondered about another formulation (“I was enticed by the same temptations, fell for the same lies, rose up with him from the ashes… ugh, that sounds terrible, next.”), but gave up when nothing came after several minutes and typed the last words fast.

 

> **I’d like to suggest another meeting where we can consult all the possibilities I’ve mustered, go through harder passages to smooth it a bit, if you are willing.**
> 
> **Sincerely, Newt (yes, you can call me that)**

He wrote the last part with a smirk, knowing very well he hadn’t replied to the text even after several other messages Thomas sent (“I think Newt is pretty badass nickname, you know.” “Are you seriously that busy for a text?” “A simple yes would suffice, you know.”), and sent the e-mail away.

The clock showed half past five and when he attempted to get up, his whole body protested, working out the rigidness that gripped him through the hours in a sitting position. The office was almost empty and at most places dark. It felt unnatural, but Newt wasn’t a greenie at this point – he spent so many hours past his shift it wasn’t even funny.

He grabbed his coat and buttoned it up efficiently, only to stop at the scarf for a second, watching it suspiciously. _The gesture was nice_ , he mused. Seeing a shivering random stranger on a bus stop and giving them your scarf? Who would do that lately? Especially at such cold weather. Thomas was either a very solidary person who believed in karma or he needed at least one good deed to reach the heaven.

He chuckled at the image of that guy with wings, halo and a harp sitting on a fluffy cloud in a white dress, and almost as an angry reply to that an e-mail jumped up on his screen.

 

 

> **Hi Newt! (really, really badass) Sure, let’s meet, are you off work now? How about we meet in an hour? Either in a city or my place, your choice. Thomas**
> 
>  

“Wait, what?” Newt stared at the e-mail dumbfounded. “I didn’t mean today, geez.”

He sat back on his chair, staring at the text doubtfully, wondering how to reply and not sound mean, when his phone started ringing with a well-known number on its display (Newt still didn’t save the number as Thomas’, but there was no doubt about whose it is).

He hesitantly received the call with unsure: “Yeah?”

“Hey, so have you decided?” Thomas’ voice flew out of the speaker immediately and Newt pinched the bridge of his nose. Really, what was wrong with that guy? Gally said attitude problems, right?

“I really didn’t mean today, I’ve just fi-,”

“Hey hey, it’s all good,” Thomas interrupted him with a small laugh. “I am not intending to kidnap you or anything, you wanted to talk business, yeah?”

“Well, yes, but it can wait,” Newt replied a little irked. “It’s late already.”

“It’s just five, _Newt_ ,” Thomas countered, using the nickname like a lethal weapon and it made Newt grit his teeth in annoyance. “Dinner maybe? You sound hungry.”

“I am not _hungry,_ ” Newt barked back, turning his computer off angrily and grabbing his keys and the scarf. “I am _tired_.”

“My place then?” Thomas offered, sounding a little out of breath, as if he didn’t understand it meant _no_ in every possible culture on Earth. “You can rest no problem in here. Will order pizza or something, sounds good?”

“Look, Thomas,” Newt barged through doors like a tidal wave, clutching his phone firmly. “I don’t know how else I should imply I am _not going anywhere today_ for you to understand, so there you have it bluntly – not today!”

“Ah, but I am already here.”

Newt frowned at that, but understood 5 seconds after he opened the main door. Thomas stood there, breathing heavily (apparently after a run, his cheeks flushed, hair tousled from the wind), smiling like a proud kid after discovering a new trick.

Newt remained at one spot without a word for a while, still clutching his phone next to his ear, before he realized that guy just had to run all the way from wherever he used to stay until now, just to meet him, even after a repeated refusal. He slowly dropped the phone to his pocket, glaring at the brown haired man accusingly, but earned only a sheepish smile in return.

“Well. Since I am already here,” Thomas hid the phone as well, stepping closer. “Let’s go eat anyway?”

Newt threw the scarf at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo, I made it xD Good I haven't got too much work, haha, so I could write it in peace xD  
> This chapter may be a little uneventful, sorry QQ
> 
> PS: Newt is the same reader as me - when I get too caught up, a single note can cause a heartattack, haha.
> 
> Feedbacks are love <3


	3. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Cool,” Thomas piped. His lack of response made Newt raise his head questioningly, just to find him looking back with a lazy smile plastered on his face.   
> “What?” he asked, guarded.   
> “Nothing,” Thomas shrugged, but his expression didn’t change. “Just analysing you.”  
> “Analysing me?”

 The bistro was half full and Newt wasn’t sure what exactly happened in the past half an hour. Thomas basically dragged him here, seating him and pushing a menu to his hands with a grin.

“I love the one with chilli,” he noted when Newt eyed the menu suspiciously. “It’s not too spicy, but not too bland. You should try it.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Newt mumbled, putting the menu on the table. His head hurt and Thomas’ voice surely didn’t help him in it, the appetite for anything dropped like a lead. Thomas ordered both of them the same meal and returned his attention to Newt, looking at him curiously.

“So you liked it?” the writer nudged his knee with own his under the table and Newt jolted, glaring at him. Thomas smiled innocently and added: “The story I mean.”

“Yes,” Newt pushed himself a bit further and pulled the coat off his shoulders. It seemed he was staying after all. “You are talented and fluid with words, I like it.”

“Glad to hear that,” Thomas said lightly, looking into his phone, reading something. “So… the character’s name or description…”

“You should establish at least something for the reader to relate to,” Newt immediately seized the opportunity to get this meeting on a business note, relaxing a bit into his chair. “The absolute freedom can be nice for someone, but I’d recommend giving the character a form, at least a vague one. Hair colour or… his build, something important about his look. The namelessness doesn’t need to be a problem if you avoid constant pointing out that can get old.”

“Oh,” Thomas blinked few times, apparently processing the information. “Alright. So where should I put the description? The beginning?”

“You can easily divide it into all you have now, pointing small things out gradually. At the beginning mention his build maybe, when he struggles in the desert. You can easily sneak a colour of his hair into sand mentioning as well,” Newt explained fluidly, pulling out the print, browsing through the pages. “I made notes at words that are repeating too close to each other at the sides, as well as formulations that could be handled better.”

“Cool,” Thomas piped. His lack of response made Newt raise his head questioningly, just to find him looking back with a lazy smile plastered on his face.

“What?” he asked, guarded.

“Nothing,” Thomas shrugged, but his expression didn’t change. “Just analysing you.”

“Analysing me?”

“Yeah. That’s what I do. Helps with the description of stuff when you look at something longer and chant it in your head,” Thomas nodded and his smile grew wider. “It helps with memorizing as well.”

Newt fidgeted nervously.

“Sometimes looking is not enough when you want to know the structure or consistency,” Thomas continued, leaning forward slowly. “And then you have to touch to find a better word for the texture depending on the result.”

Newt’s eyes narrowed, but he stayed put, even when he saw Thomas’ hand raising up, reaching for him.

“Of course you can always go for _soft_ when you see something that looks like it, but what if it’s not? What if it’s _silky_ or _smooth_ , or what if it’s actually _rough_ and _unyielding_?” Thomas’ words flowed like a river and Newt found himself drinking up every syllable, unable to stop it. “So you have to _touch_ , because you never know…”

A sudden contact of skin on skin when Thomas’ hand reached Newt’s cheek and caressed it lightly jolted him out of his trance and a loud smack shot through the bistro like a bell ring. Thomas pulled his hand back with a chuckle, rubbing it slightly after the slap Newt landed on it.

“Do not bloody touch me,” the blond hissed warningly, trying very hard to ignore stares they got from other people sitting around them. He felt blood in his face raising, hot waves coming fast and unmerciful.

“Newt, are you British?” Thomas countered with an absolutely unrelated question and the blond frowned even more, on a verge of exasperation.

“Yes, so?”

“Nothing, just your accent is pretty cool when you get pissed,” Thomas grinned, earning yet another deadly glare in his direction, and it was the moment a waiter chose to bring them their food.

***

The night was cold and it chilled Newt to the bone. He breathed in the cool breeze deeply, feeling the frosty air travel through his whole body like liquid nitrogen before he warmed it up with a smoke from the cigarette he held. He leaned over the railing, watching the dark sky silently, counting the ticking seconds running out.

The clock showed 4 in the morning and Newt’s bed remained untouched like many nights before. The notebook in the corner of his room hummed quietly, illuminating the space with soft blue-ish light and Thomas’ text dancing over it.

Newt fell in love with it. He adored each and every paragraph and felt the familiar hunger for more, gnawing at his insides. Everything about the story captivated him - the mystery of the main character, the descriptions of his surroundings, and the easy flow of words carefully chosen to compliment the scene.

All of it, except of Thomas.

The young man infuriated him at the best, with easy smiles and smart remarks (“Are you naturally blond?” or “You are surprisingly tall!” and “Do you prefer texts over calls?”), bombarding him with jabs and nudges here and there, always too close, too personal. During the dinner Newt had to shoo him several times when he felt his feet collide with his under the table, hand brushing over his to point something out, shoulder grabbing, and back patting like a touch-deprived kid at the banquet.

He kept on dancing around him, taunting him to dance too, but Newt hadn’t budged and fought against every attempt stubbornly until he finally found an excuse to tell him goodbye and go home. The dinner took them almost two hours and their “business talk” shrank to, maybe, 15 minutes from the whole meeting. Even that Newt tried several times to get them back on track, to actually _help_ Thomas improve passages that sounded a little too gritty, the young writer brushed it off with yet another completely unrelated question about Newt.

He inhaled deeply from the cigarette, making the tension go away, and doused the rest of the thin white line in a puddle of rain water that stayed on the railing. The hope a night rain would make him at least doze off ended up forgotten, and he returned to his flat with a shiver, sitting in front of the notebook tiredly.

 

_He touched the cold floor hesitantly. The tips of his fingers traced deeply carved lines, noting every imperfection, a mossed joints with moist grooves, dry patches of crumbled stone. His last chance died with the whispered warning, an image of dead limp of her body froze his bones in an unyielding grip. He refused to look her way, despised his own weakness, and kept is eyes up, towards an unforgiving darkness._

 

“He despised his own weakness…” Newt repeated thoughtfully. “Despised, but refused to look her way. His eyes glued to the unforgiving darkness ahead…?”

He typed few suggestions, tracing the keyboard lightly.

_The tips of his fingers_. _Feather like touches_.

Because sometimes looking wasn’t enough to get the structure right, Newt remembered Thomas saying. _So you have to touch, because you never know…_

His cheek tingled at the memory and he frowned, shaking his head quickly. What he _had to_ admit about the young writer was his way with words. A suddenly captivating speech made Newt forgot about every antipathy he felt towards him, almost hypnotized by the tone and content, until he crossed the line and broke the spell by the touch itself.

_A cocky brat._

He dived into the text one more time, leaving the messy thoughts for another day.

***

**_-Wow, you sent it at 5? Did you even sleep?-_ **

Newt blinked at the text with furrowed brows. Thomas’ text made him miss part of the Chief’s speech and he contemplated if replying is even needed when another text shook the small machine softly.

**_-But hey, that’s pretty cool, thanks! I sent you some stuff I added for the character description as well, you have it on your e-mail.-_ **

Newt glanced at the closed door of the meeting room longingly, a surge of excitement thrumming through his veins. He couldn’t deny he was curious how Thomas described the main character, even that he mentally made an image of his own. Another vibration brought him back into present and his insistent phone.

**_-Also thanks for y-day. I enjoyed it :-)-_ **

“Yeah, right,” Newt snorted and someone cleared their throat. He glanced back in confusion to see the Chief and basically the whole room staring at him.

“Something you want to tell us, Newton?” the Chief asked pointedly and Newt quickly shook his head.

“Sorry.”

“Then keep quiet. So, as I was saying…”

Newt blocked his voice one more time and looked back down on his phone, shining brightly with the text. He thought about the reply for a moment and swiftly typed away.

**_-I will look at it later, have a meeting atm.-_ **

It took Thomas approximately 20 seconds to answer that one and Newt sighed.

**_-No prob. Are you free this evening?-_ **

“Again?” he mumbled to himself, earning a raised eyebrow from Teresa sitting next to him, but he ignored her.

**_-We can talk work, I will behave :-)-_ **

Another text blinked and Newt had to bite his tongue to stop himself from groaning loudly.

**_-Work meetings like that are usually once per week, do you realize that?-_ **

He typed back with a frown and Teresa pushed his hand away so she could read it too. He wasn’t even surprised.

**_-It doesn’t need to be a work meeting :P-_ **

**_-I am busy_** _—_ Before he could finish the sentence properly, Teresa took the phone and made a face at him.

“You are not busy at all,” she whispered towards him accusingly. “Why are you lying to him?”

“Oh hell, I dunno, maybe because it’s _none of your business_?” he retorted briskly, taking the phone back in a swift move.

“Can you two behave?” Chief’s voice broke to him once more and both of them shut up sulkily.

The rest of the meeting passed fast and Newt bolted out of the door faster than Chief could even notice him, and Teresa was right behind him.

“So?” she pressed, walking fast to keep up with him. “Are you going to turn him down? Really? Why?”

“Teresa, geez, calm down,” he shot her a look. “You know very well I do not befriend clients.”

“You don’t befriend anyone who is not insistent enough and do all the work,” she shot back scathingly.

“Don’t you have any work to do?” he glared now, but it didn’t really work. She only glared back, which made him huff and sit down to his table, opening a promised e-mail. All changes were highlighted by red colour and Newt started to read, blatantly ignoring her presence behind him.

 

_The dampness of his skin collided painfully with the scorching heat of the desert, miniature particles of the omnipresent sand scraping him everywhere, filling his nostrils, clawing in his throat, stinging in his eyes, **scathing though his fair hair**. Breathing hurt and every other step pained him. _

“Oh, so he made him fair haired,” Newt mumbled to himself, reading along the paragraphs. He heard Teresa humming behind him, apparently reading as well.

_The darkness made **his eyes almost black, even that the deep brown usually dominated. You could get lost in the color if you weren’t careful, the captivating gleam of sharp wit and highly guarded emotions seizing.**_

**_-_ **

_He could see the monster underestimated him, the claws retracting, ready to take him on by its bare hands. **For how much he wasn’t wide and bulky he compensated it with tall and lean build, fast and clever.**_

**_-_ **

_He cried out in pain, biting his lip and tasting copper on his tongue. The sharp ache in his right leg tortured him all the way through the desert, the sensation overwhelming, **an old injury returning with vengeance. He could barely walk and with each step the agony grew, his limp even more obvious.**_

 

“It’s you,” Teresa breathed out at the same time he finished the paragraph and a cold hand gripped his insides. “He based him on _you_.”

Newt immediately scrambled for his phone, texting back with a growl:

**_-Let’s meet up at 3.-_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asdfjdfjd, thank all gods for so easy days at work so I am able to keep up my daily update! :D  
> This is a bit of a tricky chapter, I meant to give it some sort of coded meaning, giving you all something to connect while reading, but I dunno if it worked, haha :D I am not good at hinting :D
> 
> Anyway, feedbacks are met with a hug and infinite love <3 You all give me strenght! <3  
> Thank you so much for reading :))


	4. A Plea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, now you know me,” Newt wiped tears from his eyes, stifling upcoming giggles inside.  
> “No, I don’t,” Thomas mumbled. “You are closed off all the time.”  
> Newt chuckled. Suddenly everything seemed ridiculous, even all his anger since yesterday from the pain in his stupid leg to sudden changing of clients.  
> “Alright, let’s see,” he smirked, dropping his arms down along his body. “You want to know me? There. I can’t sleep. I hate stupid people. I like blue colour. I love your writing. I love how you describe everything. I believe your book is going to be a huge success. But I could do it without seeing you every day, without the constant questions and attempts to know me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny bit of a rating for the middle part

“Uh oh, pissy face,” Thomas exclaimed as the first thing once he saw Newt standing at the entrance of the building, looking like he could kill somebody with his eyes only. The remark irked him even more and he felt an urge to punch the writer in the face.

“Wanna grab pizza somewhere and move it to my place?” Thomas offered with a small smile and Newt had to take a deep breath to keep calm.

He planned to ask him (and knowing himself, it might include a shout or two) about the whole description thing, and a possibility to make it private seemed like the best option. Less people staring, more freedom of movement (he tended to pace around when angry, it helped him blow out the steam), and a cover where to hide the body.

“Good idea,” he gritted out, his voice dangerously low, but Thomas was either half deaf, had a selective hearing or zero ability to realize he is in danger alone with Newt at the moment, and smiled brightly, immediately chattering about a pizzeria close to the office with “an orgasmic amount of cheese on top of every piece”.

They got two pizzas with whatever-ingredients Thomas picked (“Trust me, it’s wickedly good.”) and arrived to his place 20 minutes later, with Newt in visibly darker mood. Thomas was a chatterbox, he kept on talking and talking, either topic was fine for him. He apparently didn’t even mind Newt barely responded to either of his questions. He had an obvious need to fill the silence, even with an utter nonsense.

“So, what’s your favorite color?” the writer asked once they finally reached his flat and the door closed behind them. The room was nicely warm again, but even messier than before. Clothes lied everywhere – the big pile was probably a couch under the insane amount of shirts and pants resting on it.

“Why?” Newt stopped in the hallway and gave Thomas a disagreeing look. “So you can use it in your book too?”

“Oh, haha. Busted,” Thomas _winked_ at him, that sly little fox, and started cleaning the couch (more like throwing all the clothes on the ground next to it, _lovely_ ), making space.

“So?” Newt crossed his arms on the chest, watching him expectantly when Thomas just sat down and looked at him.

“So what?”

“So you maybe want to explain why you made the main character look like me?” right at that moment he said it, Newt realized how ridiculous it sounded. The text didn’t say “He looked like Newt” or “for better reference go look at that guy in the editor’s office”. It stated he was blond. He had brown eyes. Taller and lean. And with a _limp_. The last thing made Newt adamant Thomas based the character on him, but even that he _knew_ it suddenly became petty and arrogant to assume such thing without a better proof than few paragraphs that could be describing anyone. He paused, unsure how to smooth the situation, but Thomas was already shrugging as it was no big deal.

“I think it fits,” he replied calmly, making Newt stop and stare at him. “And you apparently liked it. Since I met you at the bus stop, it just happened.”

“What happened?” Newt breathed out, a little shocked. Such blatant confirmation surprised him.

“I kept on seeing him as you,” Thomas mumbled, suddenly looking more self-conscious than he should have yesterday while eating a bun with chilli leaking everywhere. “Every time I thought about him. It was you.”

Newt opened his mouth, but nothing came. He shuffled his feet and tried again, without avail. When he realized the eloquence was out of reach, he shook his head and only asked _why_ in a small voice.

“I dunno,” Thomas answered, looking a little unsure. “It just happened. I was thinking of one scene, picturing the scenery and then suddenly bam! And you were there. All tall and proud and determined looking like you were on the bus stop and I thought – well, why not? The horoscope said do not back down from a challenge after all.”

“A horoscope?” Newt repeated incredulously.

“Yeah, it’s not like I believe in that crap, but hey, it sounded cool for once and it came true too!” Thomas grinned again, suddenly jumping to his feet, walking to the table and rummaging through the papers on top of it. Newt wanted to say something, anything, but before a normal thought beside a bunch of rubbish came to his head, Thomas already turned back to him, holding a newspaper Newt found painfully familiar.  

“Today you will get challenged. Do not back down, it is an important moment. Don’t underestimate your partner, take them for a nice dinner, the argument should be forgotten by tonight if you work hard,” the writer read it fluidly and Newt felt all the colour draining from his face. “See? Cool, isn’t it? There was a challenge and there also was dinner, and I think it was a success? I was trying my best.”

Newt stared at him. There were no words that could be said; he just silently stared at the young man in awe. A horoscope. He decided to do all that stuff from yesterday because of bunch of bullshit in a newspaper?

The mere thought of Thomas reading his “predestined day” every morning to know how to behave or what to expect suddenly dawned on Newt as a hilarious conclusion. Knowing there were also pearls like: “Today you will feel gassy because you ate badly the day before” made him burst with laughter, imagining how Thomas must felt disappointed by his completely gas free day.

The laughter was something that he didn’t really expect, but couldn’t stop anyway. He laughed and laughed, feeling tears prickling in his eyes from it and Thomas’ expression of pure confusion made him even more amused.

“So you,” he hiccupped with another string of giggles coming from his mouth, “you decided to take me out for dinner because of _that_?”

“Maybe,” Thomas fidgeted, apparently realizing it did sound hilarious as hell. “But I wanted to know you better too.”

“Well, now you know me,” Newt wiped tears from his eyes, stifling upcoming giggles inside.

“No, I don’t,” Thomas mumbled. “You are closed off all the time.”

Newt chuckled. Suddenly everything seemed ridiculous, even all his anger since yesterday from the pain in his stupid leg to sudden changing of clients.

“Alright, let’s see,” he smirked, dropping his arms down along his body. “You want to know me? There. I can’t sleep. I hate stupid people. I like the colour blue. I love your writing. I love how you describe everything. I believe your book is going to be a huge success. But I could do it without seeing you every day, without the constant questions and attempts to _know me_.”

If Thomas got hurt, he didn’t show it, and a little part of Newt wondered what would make him snap. He dismissed the thought immediately, chiding himself.

“So you like my writing, but you don’t like me,” Thomas drew the conclusion calmly, looking back at his editor with blank expression.

“Yes,” Newt said, simply. No point in making it nicer, honesty, after all, was his forte. “So maybe it would be better if you either get another different editor, a girl maybe, like my colleague Teresa, or-,”

Newt almost hadn’t noticed the movement, a flash of colour and sharp air change, and suddenly he was being kissed. No, _devoured_ probably defined it better. His body resisted, a surge of shock almost stopped his heart. Thomas was pressing against him firmly, his big hands cradling Newt’s head in between them like something fragile, hot lips insisting and demanding, begging for entrance. Newt pushed against him, hands clawing to set free, but Thomas didn’t budge. He angled his head a little more instead, fitting like a missing piece. A swept of tongue against Newt’s lower lip crashed through the last desperate defence he had and all the strength left his body, leaving him limp in the middle of the living room, receiving an urgent kiss.

“Please don’t go,” Thomas whispered against his lips pleadingly. “Please, stay. Please. You give me strength to do this, please.”

“Thomas-.”

“I wanted to give up,” – kiss – “But when I saw you at the bus stop, it all crashed back and you were,” – a lick and kiss at the corner of his mouth – “God, you just make me want to write and it’s all you, all about you, all for you.”

The pleading confession made Newt gasp and Thomas finally pulled back a little, touched their foreheads together, breathing raggedly. His face was tense and open, a vulnerability almost screaming at Newt, taunting him to respond in kind.

“I couldn’t…” Thomas’ voice shook and his body burned against Newts’. “Not another word, it just didn’t come. The first guy, he tried to get me to work, but I just couldn’t…”

“Gally?” Newt asked almost in a haze. The comprehension of this situation was escaping him.

“I told him I won’t continue, it got heated,” Thomas mumbled, his hands slowly moving from Newt’s face to his neck, then shoulders, until they stayed on his arms holding him at place. “I thought it’s just won’t work out. But… then I met you and… suddenly I got million ideas and formulations, and when your boss called about the continuation and if I gave up, I told him I can do it. And he sent you.”

Newt gulped loudly, the proximity finally getting to him fully. He tried to fight free again, and this time Thomas let him go. His face stayed sad, almost desperate and Newt’s body trembled.

Thomas just kissed him. The sudden realization dawned on him unmercifully, and made his throat tighten.

“Let me get this straight,” he spoke carefully, keeping his voice in line. “You wanted to stop writing. But because of me you still continue?”

“Yes,” Thomas answered shortly, keeping his eyes casted down in shame. He reminded Newt of a child that did something bad and got scared of punishment. But how the heck should Newt punish this guy?

“So?” Newt taunted him, his voice tight. He basically got attacked by a man he knew for what… two days? That was ridiculous. He wanted to punch him at the best, told him he was a jerk and a dickhead, and what the heck was he thinking, but looking at Thomas’ sorry face was already dissatisfying. It didn’t suit him at all, as if all light got sucked out of him and only dark, depressing thoughts stayed.

“I would like you to reconsider,” Thomas took a deep breath and finally looked back at him, his eyes intense, but also scared. “I know I just… I am sorry for what I did, it was unprofessional and it won’t happen again.”

“Yeah?” Newt frowned and the writer fidgeted a little.

“Unless you’d be willing, of course,” he added a little hopefully and it made Newt bristle.

“Well, that’s bloody precious,” he growled and started to pace. “Do you bloody realize that you just attacked me?!”

“I am sorry,” Thomas whispered, hunching to himself. “I panicked.”

“Oh you panicked!” Newt barked angrily. “That’s just golden!”

“I won’t do it again,” the writer insisted. “I won’t, so please. Just… please.”

“You are insane if you think I will be willing to meet with you again alone after this,” Newt pointed at him threateningly. “Or even willing to work with you knowing you are… I don’t even bloody know what you think you are doing. As if the character personification wasn’t bloody creepy enough!”

“I am sorry.”

“You bloody should be!”

“I am.”

A strange resignation in Thomas’ voice made Newt shut up. The brown haired man suddenly looked much, much older, his shoulders down, his body almost in a defence position. He was biting his lips and watched one spot on the floor through half-lidded eyes, as if he just lost all his energy.

“Are you in love with me?”

The question was out even before Newt could think through the consequences of both answers he could get. Either he liked to torture himself with unpleasant situations, or he was missing a “switch-off for uncomfortable questions” button in his head.

No answer came. No answer was needed. A single nod from the writer turned Newt’s body around and made him leave the flat without a single word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am terribly sorry for Thomas’ creepiness QQ
> 
> Plus, there is an effort to make a difference between Newt and Thomas’ speech. With Newt being British and Thomas being American I attempted to make it a bit different with using or not using the “u” in words (colour etc.), but since I am neither I am pretty sure there are also words or phrases that are different (aka pissed and pissed off). I am sorry if it’s lame and would be great if any of you can point out some stuff for me <3
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> And I'd be delighted if you tell me what do you think of this chapter, because I am super anxious about it now QQ (I do realize you wanted those two get friendly, and this just... happened).


	5. A Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Editing romance novels made your brain all mushy, didn’t it,” he grumbled. “I am not in love with that guy.”  
> “I didn’t say love. But since you are objecting so strongly…”  
> “Alby, one more word and I shove this glass down your throat.”  
> Alby shut up but Newt could see how his shoulders shook with laughter.

“Well, he did describe you nicely,” Alby mused, looking over the paragraphs with a thoughtful expression. “Like someone who has been looking _closely_.”

“Gee, thank you. That helps,” Newt grumbled unhappily, nursing his beer for half an hour already. They sat in the pub Alby chose and Newt was glad he could get out of his head for a while. His companion leaned back in his chair and shrugged.

“So what? He likes you.”

“After two days? I’m sorry, what?” Newt opposed with a frown, watching his friend doubtfully. “I can’t even decide if I like the city I live in after two years, not to mention a person who I saw few times and who didn’t exactly sing sonnets or strived to make friends after _two_ bloody days.”

“Why not?” Alby questioned, his face of pure curiosity. “Imagine seeing a person for the first time who looks great. Who is stylish and everything you consider cool and badass. You don’t need to know them to realize you fancy them – platonically, but hey, _they are cool, I wouldn’t mind to know them better_.”

“And you are going where exactly with such a deep explanation?”

“I just think he may not _love_ you, but he can definitely fancy you just enough to spark the interest,” Alby finished his speech with a smirk, and Newt already regretted telling him about it. It was like giving him ammunition for future references about his ill-advised relationship steps towards a bigger goal after ridiculously short amount of time.

“I’m not even sure what you are angry about, to be honest,” Alby pointed. “I mean, you should be mad about him forcing himself on you, right?”

“He didn’t really force-,”

“But you are more concerned about the fact he fancies you,” Alby interrupted him without hesitation. “I seriously wonder where your priorities lie.”

“I’m just saying it’s bullshit,” Newt stared into his beer. “You can’t fall in love in two days.”

“I’m pretty sure you can,” Alby opposed with a shrug. “Happened to me few times already.”

“You are a weirdo,” Newt countered. “With zero patience in your personal life.”

“He may be too,” his friend remarked.

“How am I supposed to work with him now?” Newt questioned tiredly. “Knowing about that?”

“What’s so terrible about knowing someone likes you?” Alby straightened in his chair, looking strangely invested in the conversation

“He is my bloody client,” Newt growled. He had the rule for that – not making friends with clients, which definitely also meant _do not fall in love with them_.

“And he needs your help. He apologized, right?” Alby remarked calmly. “Promised he won’t do anything unless you are into it. I think he understood you are not from a single look you gave him, with your charming personality invested.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Newt looked back at him with a frown and Alby smiled.

“It means you are scary when you want to be.”

“I’m not scary,” the blond opposed. “I just have my priorities in order.”

“Your priorities are weird,” his friend said lightly. “You know very well there is no rule for not being friends with the writer you working for, you know?”

“He doesn’t want to be _a friend_ ,” Newt reminded him darkly. “Which he proved by playing tonsil hockey with me.”

“Did you hit him after?” Alby inquired and something in his tone told Newt it’s a trick question.

“No,” he cut it shortly.

“You surprise me.” And there it was. Alby set down a trap and now he thought Newt got caught in it. “I thought you aren’t interested?”

“Alby-,”

“So maybe he got under your skin after these past _two_ days? And you found out you actually are not opposed to the idea?” suggestions dropped from Alby’s mouth like string of pearls. Newt pinched bridge of his nose and groaned.

“Editing romance novels made your brain all mushy, didn’t it,” he grumbled. “I am _not_ in love with that guy.”

“I didn’t say love. But since you are objecting so strongly…”

“Alby, one more word and I shove this glass down your throat.”

Alby shut up but Newt could see how his shoulders shook with laughter.

***

“Newton, a word please.”

Newt could almost taste the sudden change of atmosphere when the Chief’s figure appeared in the office and his attention aimed at him. He silently nodded, closing an empty e-mail (no new chapter from Thomas, not that he expected it) and followed his boss to the smaller room.

The chief kept the silence a long time after the door closed behind them. He circled his table and sat down, typing something on his pc and after a long, menacing pause finally looked at the editor with narrowed eyes.

_That’s bad._

“I got a call yesterday evening,” he started. “From your client.”

_Oh great._

“Cancelling the contract,” the Chief continued coldly. “Saying the writing went bad and it’s no good, even though _you_ tried to help him a lot.”

Newt remained quiet.

“Care to tell me what happened?”

“He is lying,” Newt uttered. The Chief raised his eyebrows, waiting for the continuation. When nothing came, he cleared his throat.

“Lying about what?”

“The writing didn’t go bad,” Newt explained. “He is one of the best writers I’ve ever worked with.”

“So what is the problem then? He sounded adamant in ceasing his attempts to publish anything.”

Newt took a deep breath. Honesty was something he lived by. Lying never helped anyone, and if, the consequences could get terrifying. He knew people considered him strict and deadly honest and he kept the reputation up for his own sake. Faking anything or playing nice when he didn’t feel like it was something he despised, not just with himself, but with others too. White lies were a foreign concept and he didn’t plan starting with them, ever.

“He just needs to be supervised more,” Newt said calmly. “Don’t worry about it. I will talk to him. We’ll deal.”

The Chief watched him a bit more, apparently searching for any sign of dishonesty, but found none and slowly nodded.

“That’s good to hear, Newton. I trust you to take care of it. His work is good so far I gather?”

“He’s brilliant,” Newt replied with a small smile. It wasn’t a lie. The story begged for more and it would be a pity to leave it unfinished.

“Very good. We will overlook these past few days of his… let’s say writer’s block,” the Chief rose up from his chair in a swift move, his body visibly more relaxed than when he sat down. “Just make sure he finishes it. If he needs anything-,”

“Provide,” Newt finished it with a nod and the Chief gave him a rare smile.

“Thank you for your hard work, Newton. Best of luck.”

***

Three simple knocks burned like touching heated metal. Newt stood in front of the door with a tight feeling in his chest and he realized his hands trembled a little. Why exactly did he even do this? Maybe he was the weirdo, and not Thomas - or Alby for that matter. Maybe he just liked to make his life difficult.

The door opened several seconds later and Newt blinked few times. A young brown haired girl stood in there, looking at him expectantly. She looked petite and kind of cute, in an oversized shirt and bare legs as if she just got up from the bed.

“Yes?” she inquired when Newt only stared and it brought the blond back to reality.

There was a girl in Thomas’ apartment. The realization stung a little too close to home and Newt forced himself not to bit his lip anxiously in front of her.

“Oh, sorry. Is Thomas home?” he asked quickly, cringing internally at the formulation. As if he was some sort of teenager asking about his date.

_Where the heck a date thought came from? My mind is messed up already. God I should have called first._

“He’s asleep,” she answered with a suspicious expression. “Why?”

“It’s already one,” Newt blurted out, not able to stop himself. He had a knack for people who sleep through the whole day, waking up past twelve and going to sleep at 6 in the morning, complaining about time.

“Astounding observation,” she uttered.

“Fine,” he signed, exasperated already. “Can you tell him to call me once he wakes up?”

“Who is _me_?” she looked him over disapprovingly, apparently not liking what she saw.

“Newt,” he answered shortly. “He’ll know.”

She didn’t say anything, only her eyes narrowed a fraction more before she gave him a sharp nod and basically slammed the door in his face. He stood there for several seconds, dumbfounded, until his legs carried him unsteadily out of the building.

***

Thomas didn’t call. Or text. Or send an e-mail.

Newt felt stupid for checking his phone every two minutes, and even more stupid for refreshing his e-mail at a similar rate. No reply came, no reaction followed. The whole day passed without a single note from the writer and Newt found himself even more cranky than usual.

_A girl in Thomas’ apartment._

That thought was bugging Newt more than he thought possible. Why was he bothered by such a simple fact that there was a female in his flat? Would he be so nervous (nervous? Was it nervousness? He wasn’t sure. It made him snappy) if it was Minho (Minho, right? The name of the Asian kid the first day they met? The first day… seemed so far, yet it was just two days before)?

_That shirt looked big on her. Must have been his._

Newt groaned at his own thoughts and angrily refreshed his e-mail one more time. It came out empty again.

***

“Who died?”

Newt only grumbled something under his breath, not even sure what himself, and ignored Teresa’s raised eyebrows and confused stare following him.

“There is the Pretty face waiting for you by the way,” she called after him and that finally made him to stop and stare back at her.

“What?”

“You heard me,” she smirked. “He is in the conference room, said he will wait for you. He’s been there for half an hour already, that’s some patience.”

Newt felt his heart started to pump wildly at the information and he immediately changed his route – from his table to the conference room in long, sure strides. Thomas was waiting there for half an hour already? Why didn’t he just call? Newt was late today, his body refused to cooperate in the morning after an hour of sleep (or less, he lost the count of minutes at some point), and even got caught up in a quarrel about Halloween decoration in the hallway (that took about 15 minutes and he couldn’t leave until Mrs. Harris got satisfied with the adjustments of pumpkins that weren’t even there yet).

He opened the door maybe too strongly that it made the lone person sitting at the table jump in shock. Once Thomas realized who came in he quickly stood up, facing Newt with the most unsure expression he ever saw on anyone in his life. He looked like he was ready to drop to his knees and beg or bolt out of the door like a frightened bunny. His hair was sticking up to every possible direction and shaving was apparently a foreign term, since he sported a 5 o’clock shadow on his face.

Newt closed the door behind him a little slower, and his mind ran like a hamster in a wheel. He had this planned, goddammit, he _knew_ what he would say (yesterday, before the girl cut it all in half), but now, staring at the writer, no words came. Nothing.

“Newt-,” Thomas started, his voice a little rough as if he hadn’t slept enough (or maybe too much, or maybe he shouted too much, or maybe he kept on repeating her name or-), and Newt’s body moved on its own, pushing stubbornly forward, until he reached his destination and slammed Thomas against the table (did it hurt? It had to hurt). He saw the wide Bambi eyes and noticed the hitched breath, and chided himself for being an idiot, and maybe also a super huge moron and someone without two brain cells to rub together, but it must have been some small, weak side of his brain that warned him, because his body didn’t stop. He grabbed Thomas’ nape and pushed insistently forward, crushing their lips together without finesse, pulling at the hair on the back of Thomas’ head as if he wasn’t sure himself if he wanted him _closer_ or _away_. He heard Thomas whimper at first, but he didn’t pull back. He stayed at the spot – not touching Newt any other way, although his lips responded in kind, his tongue hot, explorative but not overpowering.

Newt pulled back eventually, slow and deliberate, noticing how Thomas followed the movement with his mouth before realizing the kiss was over for good and blinking in confusion.

Newt stood his ground; they basically breathed the same air still, his mind dangerously blank and unhelpful.

“Uh…” Thomas started, his hands twitching at his sides, apparently fighting with the urge to reach out.

“You are going to keep on writing,” Newt breathed out. “You are going to write, you are going to give it to me, I am going to edit the shit out of it, and you are going to publish it. Are we clear?”

“You just kissed me,” Thomas replied in a small voice.

“Now we are even,” Newt looked him in the eyes. “And be professional partners. I am your editor. You are the writer.”

“You said you are not going to work with me again,” Thomas pointed quietly.

“I never said that,” Newt opposed. “Get your facts right, dummy.”

“Are you going to help me then?”

“Yes, I’m going to help you,” the blond nodded, watching Thomas carefully.

“In person?” another hopeful question and Newt smirked.

“Yes, in person.”

The sweetest and also the dumbest smile lightened up Thomas features like a Christmas tree, he almost looked _dreamy_ and Newt pushed a little into his chest.

“Means no this. No touching. No kissing,” he pressed. “We put it out of our minds. And work. Sounds good to you?”

“Sounds manageable,” Thomas shrugged, even though his smile faded a little.

“Alright,” the blond stepped away, clearing his throat. “Shall we start fresh then?”

Thomas chuckled and nodded in agreement, extending his hand towards the blond man.

“Hey. I’m Thomas. I’m new to writing. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

Newt smiled lightly, gripping the hand in his in a firm shake.

“Newton. But call me Newt, greenie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, THANK YOU to the perfect misssushicat for the beta! Ily! <3 So many mistakes, haha :D Thank you so much! <3
> 
> Second thing. This chapter makes me anxious about your reaction, because it took a turn now, and... I'd love to hear what you think!  
> Thank you all for reading and being super supportive <3


	6. A Phone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Joy,” he commented sternly. “Now if you excuse me, I have a work to do.”
> 
> “Writing to Pretty face?” she cooed, leaning closer to the monitor to see the text.
> 
> “Doing my job,” he retorted. “Teresa, for fuck’s sake, go do something else.”

“Stop being so happy. It’s too early for that,” Teresa grumbled while stopping at Newt’s table with a yawn and the blond looked back up at her from writing an e-mail.

“Do I look happy to you?” he raised an eyebrow at her and she immediately sat at the edge of his table.

“Yes. You were _smiling_. I thought your face was not able to do that without cracking.”

“The only thing that’s probably going to crack is my table,” he uttered, writing another word. “Under the weight of your bullshit.”

“Don’t try so hard,” she smiled at him sweetly, picking at the edges of newspaper she held. “I can see you are in a good mood, you can stop pretending to be grouchy.”

“Teresa,” he sighed, leaving the text alone again. “Does this conversation have a point or are you just enjoying bothering me?”

“Probably both,” she shrugged and opened the newspaper in a swift move. “Aries, hmmm.”

“Oh god, not again.”

“Expect some delays, upsets, and unexpected turns when it comes to romance today, Aries. Jealousy may rear its ugly head, as you may at some point get the impression that your beloved is noticing someone else. Bear in mind that there's a strong chance that these impressions are illusory, and that the truth may be totally different from the way things seem. Take care to stay focused. Reserve judgment until you know the facts,“ she read aloud and winked at him.

“Joy,” he commented sternly. “Now if you excuse me, I have a work to do.”

“Writing to Pretty face?” she cooed, leaning closer to the monitor to see the text.

“Doing _my job_ ,” he retorted. “Teresa, for fuck’s sake, go do something else.”

“Spoilsport,” she stuck her tongue out and jumped off the table like a cat. Newt wanted to shout at her to stay away from him at least for few hours, but thought better of it and settled back to writing a reply. Thomas sent him an e-mail fairly early in the morning, which was a bit unexpected with his late noon sleeping habits, but Newt didn’t complain.

 

> **From: <Thomas> Hey**
> 
> **Hey, it just occurred to me – are you okay with me leaving the description of the main character as it is? I don’t know if it bothers you or not, I don’t want to mess it up again. Also, can you send me your phone number again? My phone got a little… out of order (drowned), all my contacts are gone :-(. Thomas**
> 
>  
> 
> **RE: Hey**
> 
> **To: <Thomas>**
> 
> **It’s fine, don’t worry about the description. I got told it fits either way.**
> 
>  

Newt hesitated for a moment and then decided to text instead of sending the number in an e-mail. He clicked send with a sigh and pulled out his phone, clicking Thomas’ number and staring at the display. It took him a while before he actually typed a something in, contemplating in between casual “my number” to something bitter like “minus points for losing my contact”, until he settled on: “You drowned your phone?? Newt.”

It took Thomas only a minute to respond and even though Newt sort of expected it, the ring tone made him jump anyway.

**_-Not me specifically. But it died in the name of love.-_ **

Newt laughed quietly and typed back.

**- _If that’s what they call it these days…_ -**

**_-I got assured his affection towards the toilet bowl was pure and sincere.-_ **

“A toilet bowl!” Newt snorted, readying an answer when another text arrived.

**- _Are you free this evening?-_**

 “God, you are pushy,” Newt mumbled, his finger hovering above _reply_ hesitantly. His actions yesterday got out of hand, he realized that. He felt ridiculous and also a little guilty for letting Thomas on. Of course he told him there is nothing to act on, but still. He kissed him, all by himself. No one pushed him, no one taunted him. It felt like digging a deep hole for himself, a trap he will get caught in if he is not careful.

Another text immediately followed.

**_-It’s fine if not, I thought just, maybe, a lunch or something, and I will give you what I get done by that hour. I already started, just, you know. Thought in person it’s gonna be better.-_**

 "I could take him as my client if it bothers you so much,” Teresa’s voice jolted him away from his thoughts and he almost knocked his tea down how she startled him.

“Oh my god, Teresa!” he growled, turning at her with a frown. She stood behind him with a sly smile, apparently reading over his shoulder the whole time.

“Are you going?” she asked.

“Yes, now get lost,” he turned away from her again; ignoring the chuckles, and swiftly wrote:

**_-Ok, we can go sit somewhere.-_ **

**_-Will wait for you in front of your work at 3 again?-_ **

Newt took a deep breath.

_This is a bad idea._

**_-Yup.-_ **

***

“Your table manners are astounding,” Newt commented flatly, watching Thomas basically devouring the grilled cheese. If they weren’t in a restaurant, Newt was pretty sure he would eat it with his hands like a caveman.

“Sowwy,” the writer replied with full mouth. “I’m spr hngry.”

“No doubt about that,” Newt made a face and took a swing of his beer. He was halfway through the new chapter (or like Thomas put it “A part of the chapter that is almost the whole chapter, but not really, so it’s just a part.” “Alright… did you even sleep today?” “Yeees… but I had a lot of coffee too.”), making small notes at the edges of the paper.

“Oh, this is nice,” he said out loud before realizing he is not at home and Thomas gave him a questioning look from his food. “Sorry. Talking to myself.”

“Hm?” Thomas cocked his head to the side and Newt pointed at one paragraph.

“ _The shadows withdrew away from the radiance, deeper under rocks, fighting for the territory_ ,” he read out loud. “I really like that.”

“Oh,” the writer blinked few times and then smiled, pleased. “Thank you.”

_He had a persistent urge to reach out and touch, but the burning guilt held him back like a spiky chain. The thought itself hurt almost physically, his stomach clenched, an uneasiness gripping him tightly. He had no right, he knew, but it was still there, still present, still strong._

Newt stopped reading and took a deep breath. The paragraph felt… intimate, almost like reading someone’s diary and he couldn’t help himself but feel equally guilty for witnessing the struggle of the main character.

“Is it bad?” Thomas’s voice pulled him out of the bubble he created and he quickly shook the uneasiness away.

“No, it’s very good,” he quickly assured the writer. “Intense.”

He fiddled with the edges of the paper nervously, reluctant to keep on reading in front of the author, and decided.

“You know what?” he closed the manuscript quickly. “Let’s leave the work off today. I will read it at home and send you the revision, as well as the edited stuff.”

“Oh. Alright,” Thomas nodded in an evident surprise and Newt wondered himself why he didn’t say he should go already.

“So what really happened to your phone?” he inquired and Thomas grinned.

“It got thrown in the toilet,” he said in an amused tone. “Brenda didn’t have a sense of humor and just threw it away.”

“Brenda?” Newt piped in between gulps of his beer and Thomas nodded with a small smile.

“A friend,” he clarified easily. “She has that mother hen tendency at times and thought that destroying my phone was the best way to protect me.”

“Sounds… radical?” Newt offered, thinking about it. Was Brenda the girl he saw in the flat before?

“Was she at your place two days ago?” he asked before he could stop himself and Thomas blinked, staring back at him.

“Yes?”

“Alright,” Newt nodded quietly, moving his attention to the food he hadn’t even started yet.

“How did you know she was there?” Thomas pushed closer, suddenly very interested. His eyes were wide, and maybe also a little worried.

“I met her,” Newt shrugged. “You were sleeping, so…”

“You were at my place?” This time Thomas was almost distraught, staring at Newt intensely.

“Well… yes, I-,”

“Two days ago?” another fast question and Newt frowned.

“Yes, I told her to-,”

“Get me to call you?” Thomas added quickly as if it was the biggest revelation of the century. Newt didn’t bother with a vocal answer after all those interruptions and just nodded grudgingly.

“Well, fuck me,” Thomas groaned, finally leaning back in his seat, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “So that’s why she drowned my fucking phone in the toilet.”

“Sorry, what?” Newt asked in confusion and Thomas laid his hands on the table, sighing heavily.

“I didn’t know you were there, she didn’t say anything. Guess that’s why she killed the phone.”

“Isn’t that a little messed up?” the blond noted, feeling his brows furrowing. “I mean, she destroyed the phone so you couldn’t call me or…?”

“I know, right,” Thomas snorted. “I thought that happened only in bad movies.”

“You mean this is not a movie? Well, yuck,” Newt gulped down the rest of his beer and almost missed the lazy smile Thomas sent him. It made his stomach did somersaults and he quickly turned his attention back to his food.

“I’m glad you’ve changed your mind, you know,” he heard Thomas saying. He felt his hands tremble a little at the thought and swallowing got suddenly too hard when his throat tightened. “I mean… I’d understand if you didn’t.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Newt mumbled, gulping down the food almost by the power of his sheer will. “I’d regret not helping you with this book for the rest of my life.”

“This is probably the first time someone fell in love with my writing,” Thomas admitted softly, almost inaudible. His voice sounded sad and a little broken, definitely not something Newt was used to hear from such a cheery person. “It’s a pretty nice feeling.”

Newt had a hard time believing that. The writing was good, so good it made him want to marry it at times. Even describing furniture would sound amazing with it. The tone Thomas used for that simple statement was so strange, Newt just couldn’t get it out of his head.

“You know,” he raised his head towards the writer, feeling his lips curling upwards almost without his knowledge, “I was wrong.”

“Wrong?” Thomas repeated, unsure.

“Wrong. About you.”

“Yeah?” A spark of hope flickered in the writer’s eyes; it made Newt smile a little more, warmer and friendlier.

“I like your writing. But I like you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, a HUUUUUUUUGE THANK YOU to Misssushicat for the beta!! <3 Ily, this helps me soooooooooo much, you are the best <3
> 
> This chapter is a full of dialogues, looooooooots of talking, and hopefully it also explains few things :) I'd love to hear what you think, Newt got a bit soft I think :D  
> Love you all, thank you so, so, so, so much for your support and reading this! <3


	7. A Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Can’t sleep,” the writer answered and Newt could easily picture him shrugging. “Was thinking it’s worth a shot.”  
> “To bother me at 4 AM?” Newt replied incredulously, shutting the notebook off. He felt like he couldn’t read any more of the angst for today and still stay sane.  
> “I was thinking more of entertaining you, but I guess it works too,” Thomas huffed in the phone and Newt rolled his eyes. He just couldn’t work this guy out.

The autumn was always rainy. Newt watched the droplets of water slowly sliding down the railing, multiplying by each second under the unmerciful rain whipping it tirelessly. The clock showed something between 3 and 4 in the morning, and the blond stood outside on the balcony, staring into the night with lit cigarette in his hand silently piercing the darkness around.

His mind felt preoccupied. He had worked until now, editing the little that seemed gritty, but he had to take a break after feeling overwhelmed by the ending of the newest chapter Thomas sent earlier that evening.

He made his character suffer – not with pain from an injury, no blood or death. A mental pain, some sort of deprivation that made him more believable, more real - and painfully relatable. He pined and at the same time tried to be strong and not let it get to him, but every sentence dug deeper into his consciousness, making Newt grit his teeth until he couldn’t read any more and had to have a smoke to calm himself down.

The lunch they had shared left Newt in better mood for some reason. Even though they didn’t talk about work, the topics Thomas suggested were pleasant and made Newt comfortable. He weren’t even surprised by a text that arrived an hour later, thanking him for the company.

He finished the cigarette in one go and quenched it in an ashtray, shivering in the cool air. He felt tired, but not enough to be able to sleep, so he passed the bed when he returned back inside the flat and sat back down in front of his notebook.

_No one cared the night wasn’t perfect. No one wanted to see the ugly truth lying under the pleasant smells and rich colours. All they saw were bright stars shining down, creating constellations. All they breathed was air filled with the sweetness of companionship._

_All he felt was loneliness, a dull ache in his chest, a fleeting grasp of memory slowly fading away from his mind. The recollection of a warm touch that spread through his body like a fire, everything about it was almost gone. He tried to capture it, to treasure the moment, but what he got from his effort equalled the desperation from losing it. It-_

 A loud beep pulled Newt back to reality and he felt disoriented for a while, before he realized it was his phone. He blinked few times, confused why anyone normal would text him during the night, but opened the message anyway.

**_-Are you asleep? T.-_ **

“Thomas?” he stared at the phone in surprise. “What the hell…?”

He quickly replied with _yes_ , not even really sure why, and almost dropped the small gadget when it started ringing demandingly with Thomas’ name on it.

“Are you aware it’s 4 in the morning?” he answered the call with a sigh and a chuckle came as an answer from the other side.

“Well, are you?” Thomas asked, amused.

“Yes, thank you very much,” Newt uttered, saving the changes in the document and closing it. “What’s the matter?”

“Can’t sleep,” the writer answered and Newt could easily picture him shrugging. “Was thinking it’s worth a shot.”

“To bother me at 4 AM?” Newt replied incredulously, shutting the notebook off. He felt like he couldn’t read any more of the angst for today and still stay sane.

“I was thinking more of _entertaining_ you, but I guess it works too,” Thomas huffed in the phone and Newt rolled his eyes. He just couldn’t work this guy out.

 “So what’s your tactic?” he asked, stepping out of his socks and climbing onto the bed, digging under the covers for warmth.

 “Well, first of all, tomorrow is Saturday,” Thomas started happily, as if he just won the lottery.

“Shocking,” Newt commented, which earned him a sigh from the other side.

“Yes, so it means no work, right?”

“I believe for some people it does, yeah,” the blond nodded simply.

“Are you part of _those_ people?” Thomas edged and Newt buried himself deeper into a pillow.

“Sort of. Don’t need go to the office at least,” he agreed.

“So, a movie tomorrow?”

Newt stopped and did a double check, wondering if he heard wrong.

“A movie?” he repeated.

“Yeah!” Thomas chirped. “Have you watched Pacific Rim?”

“That’s what the other _Newt_ is from?” Newt turned to his side, switching the phone to the other hand and snuggling into a more comfortable position.

“Yeah, you haven’t seen it then?” Thomas’ voice sounded a little blurred as if he pulled his phone further away, and then a rustling sound flooded the call.

“What are you doing over there?” Newt grumbled and Thomas laughed somewhere in the distance.

“Sorry, was moving to the bed,” his voice came back loud and clear, as well as a little more rustling before Thomas let out a content sigh.

“Comfortable?” Newt couldn’t resist the irony in his voice and Thomas hummed in response.

“Your voice is making me sleepy,” the writer mumbled and Newt snorted, rolling on his back.

“You know how to flatter a girl, geez.”

“I meant it in a good way,” Thomas opposed, his tone fond. “It’s nice to listen to it. To you. When you’re not telling me I am an idiot.”

“That’s my form of sweet talk,” Newt shot back automatically.

“No doubt out it,” Thomas chuckled and a yawn stretched the line for a several seconds. “Sorry. So. Movie tomorrow?”

“I thought that’s an old movie,” Newt pointed. “Or at least not as new to still be in a cinema.”

“It’s not, yeah,” Thomas agreed, his tone rougher now, sleepier. “But I have it at home.”

Newt paused and thought about it. Thomas was pressing it again, kept on pushing, even though it was more subtle now, but he didn’t stop.

“Newt?”

“A movie. At your place,” he repeated slowly. “Are you serious?”

“Well… yeah?” a rustling sound again, probably from Thomas shrugging. “It’s Pacific Rim. You should see it, at least once.”

“Really,” Newt drawled. He would at least expect something more classical, like Terminator or Predator, but Pacific Rim? As a _you should see it at least once-_ movie?

“Or I can bring it to your place if you want,” Thomas offered, his tone heavy. “No biggie.”

“No way,” Newt refused immediately. “My parents brought me up good, I know better than to bring strangers to my room.”

A laughter filled the line and Newt smirked, the humour flowing easily.

“Why did you even decide to call me at this hour?” he asked after the laughter subsided a little.

“I remember you said you can’t sleep. So I thought I would try,” Thomas answered sleepily. “Complete success.”

“If you say so,” Newt grumbled.

“Sooooooooo…” Thomas dragged out. “Can I take that as a yes?”

“Nope,” Newt shot him down with a snort. “How easy do you think I am?”

“I think you are at level 1 million of decryption, to be honest,” Thomas yawned again. “I can’t find the right combination, no matter how hard I try.”

“Well, you either don’t try _hard enough_ , or you just suck,” the blond uttered, smiling to himself like an idiot. He felt his eyes getting heavy from all the reading he did today and he closed them to find some relief.

“That’s mean, give me a hint,” he heard Thomas say and grinned.

“Not for free,” he mumbled back. “That would be no fun.”

“I can make it fun.”

“Mmm.”

A sharp noise jumbled him awake with a deadly precision, and he almost jumped out of the bed, his mind scrambled to reach the reality.

The room was filled with a greyish light coming from the window and he heard rain tapping on the glass calmingly. His eyes immediately shot to the clock, noting the big number 10 on it.

“I fell asleep…?” he breathed out in wonder and slowly settled back to the bed, when another sharp tone filled the flat. It took several seconds for Newt’s sleep hazed brain to realize it was the doorbell, but in the end he scrambled up and padded towards the door with a yawn and bed hair worth an award.

“Oh my, I am sorry, did I wake you dear?” the wrinkled face of Mrs. Harris peeked at him when he opened the door. “I am used to you always being awake so early, I apologize.”

“It’s alright, Mrs. Harris. What can I help you with?” he stifled another yawn creeping up on him, and scratched his belly absentmindedly.

“I only wanted to remind you of today’s resident’s meeting,” she cooed with a wide smile. “Hope we will see you there.”

“Oh… yeah, thanks,” he nodded lightly and apparently it was enough for her to leave him alone again with a wink and another smile.

_What’s up with everyone winking lately?_

He dragged himself back to bed, flopping over into the messy sheets and his phone jumped from the impact like a startled bunny. Newt grabbed it with a sigh, staring at the black screen silently. He fell asleep while talking to Thomas, right?

He touched the screen lightly; finding out it had an unread text waiting for him.

**_-You snore. I expect you at 2. T.-_ **

“You little shit,” Newt laughed quietly, typing an answer swiftly.

**_-Only if you order Thai food.-_ **

He didn’t need to wait long for his phone to beep with an answer.

**_-Is that a hint?-_ **

Newt smiled, almost fondly. He realized this was bad. He was pretty sure he was also going to kick himself later. But he replied anyway and the warm, pleasant feeling in his chest lulled him back to sleep.

**_-Yes big boy. That’s a hint.-_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOUUUUUU Misssushicat!!! I just can't thank you enough you wonderful human being for doing the beta-check for me! Thank you! :3
> 
> This chapter is shorter, I am very sorry for that QQ But! I think it's also important, at least with Newt's attitude. Since sleeping is a big problem for him, this situation is probably a bit "wow" in his book :)
> 
> Feedbacks are LOVED! As always :3 I love you all, you give me strenght with each and every comment I receive, and each and every read! Thank you so much!:3


	8. A Lunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You really bought Thai food?” he glanced back at Thomas who shook his head, taking Newt’s coat to hang it on the notch.  
> “Cooked,” the writer said, a little sheepishly and disappeared in the kitchen, leaving Newt dumbfounded in the living room.  
> “You cooked?!” he called after him once he gathered his thoughts back again. It took him a several seconds before he realized he just got invited for lunch and a movie at Thomas’ place, and it looked suspiciously like a date.

“The whole hallway smells like curry,” Newt commented the exact moment the door opened with Thomas standing in the doorway. He was grinning widely, definitely too happy to see Newt at his place and it made the blond sigh.

“Stop smiling,” he ordered him, exasperated, but it only made Thomas laugh and urge him in.

If the hallway smelled already, the flat was like stepping into a kitchen, steamy, with rich, pleasant smells whirling around, making Newt hungry.

“You really bought Thai food?” he glanced back at Thomas who shook his head, taking Newt’s coat to hang it on the notch.

“Cooked,” the writer said, a little sheepishly and disappeared in the kitchen, leaving Newt dumbfounded in the living room.

“You _cooked_?!” he called after him once he gathered his thoughts back again. It took him a several seconds before he realized he just got invited for _lunch_ and _a movie_ at _Thomas’ place_ , and it looked suspiciously like a _date_.

_For god’s sake, he even cooked._

The writer appeared again, holding a thin sheaf of papers in his hand and a spoon in his mouth. He handed the papers to Newt with a meaningful nod and when the blond took it, and opened his mouth to make a nasty remark about this whole setting, Thomas took out the spoon and told him to read it.

“What is it?” Newt stopped his planned outrage in a second, looking at the scribbled text suspiciously.

“I just want to know your opinion. I thought about it this morning, but only wrote down the draft version – sorry if it’s messy. Can you read it?”

Newt skimmed through the first paragraph and nodded quietly. The handwriting was a little wild, but readable. Definitely better than his at times – people at work made fun of it, saying he should have been a doctor.

“Cool, going to finish the food, so make yourself at home,” Thomas smiled brightly and retreated again, leaving the blond alone once more. Newt took a deep breath, calming down a little and made his way to the couch. The place was surprisingly tidy today; even the couch had been perfectly visible without a single piece of clothing on it. It made Newt uneasy in the pit of his stomach and he couldn’t make himself regain composure, even when he sat and looked down at the text.

What was he even thinking? A movie at his place, that alone already sounded like a prelude to the “ _hey, let’s get to know each other better and maybe even fall in love_ ” thing Newt would hate to commence, especially now.

The letters jumped in front of his eyes restlessly, without any meaning or form, and he found he couldn’t focus a bit. He pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly. The satisfaction his body felt from sleeping slowly slinked away, leaving him edgy and unable to concentrate.

_No way I’m going to read this now._

He put the papers aside, noting words like “ _ache_ ” and “ _need_ ” and “ _fear_ ” in a brief glance scattered across the page as if someone highlighted them for him to see, and stood up again. If he stayed, what would it mean? Did Thomas think of this as a date? As a proof Newt was giving up?

_Am I giving up?_

He groaned internally, chiding himself angrily. Giving up, as if! Relationships were complicated and bothersome; he was perfectly fine by himself. He messed them up anyway; he never remained in one for long. His natural lone-wolf behaviour just didn’t work with another person, the constant proximity and attention made Newt moody and snappy – he usually ended up breaking up with the person by himself after some time. Just because Thomas fell for him, or whatever it was, never meant he needed to reciprocate or even take it under consideration. They were work partners, for god’s sake! That still meant a lot to Newt.

_There you go, idiot. Easing up the rules you set, dating a bloody client._

What happened? When had it happened? He had it under control! He slipped, alright, not saying the opposite. He did kiss the guy because his mind probably short-circuited, and apparently also gave Thomas some false feeling of hope that it could be _mutual_ , but Newt drew the line – for both of them.

But he was here now; ready to watch a movie he never cared about, eat food Thomas cooked _for him_ , and what else? Cuddle on a bloody couch? Falling asleep in his arms? Planning marriage?

“What are you doing?” Thomas’ voice jolted him from his inner monologue like a pulse of electricity and he almost jumped out of his skin. The writer stood in the living room again, looking at him expectantly and Newt was pretty sure his pacing must have looked super bizarre to him. He didn’t even realize he started to pace in the first place.

“Freaking out,” he answered bitterly. “That’s what I am doing.”

“Freaking out, why?” Thomas blinked uncomprehendingly, his eyes widening.

“Why?” Newt drew a shaking breath. “Why do you think?”

“I’m a bit lost here, man,” Thomas shrugged, but his body went rigid. “What happened? The text was bad?”

“I haven’t read it,” Newt uttered, glancing back at the stack of papers lying abandoned on the couch. “Too busy with the freak out.”

“Newt, come on,” Thomas edged a little closer – carefully, like if he was taming a wild animal, and Newt realized he basically felt like it. Jumpy and ready to bolt out any second.

“No, this is not what I want,” the editor took a step back and Thomas stopped again, staring at him. “ _This_ is wrong on a whole new level.”

“I am seriously not getting the problem,” the writer coaxed. “How about you sit down for a while, yeah?”

“No way,” Newt shot back. “I’ll sit down, you will sit down, THE TALK will happen, and it all goes to hell.”

Thomas froze, his brows furrowed. A brief flash of hurt crossed his face and Newt angrily stomped the pang of regret in his chest.

“Are you telling me,” Thomas started carefully, his voice low and controlled. “That you are _freaking out_ because you are afraid I invited you here so I could attack you _again_?”

“No, I-,”

“I promised I won’t,” Thomas interrupted him uncompromisingly. “I am not a psychopath, geez.”

“No,” Newt breathed out, a little panicked by the sudden darkness that settled in Thomas’ eyes. “No, that’s not the problem, I haven’t…”

“Then what is it?” Thomas crossed arms on his chest, his tone suddenly cold and posture defensive. “I am not going to force you to do anything; I’m not a fucking animal. I can control myself, alright?”

He spoke calmly, but his eyes got darker and darker and Newt felt his throat tighten at the sight, words getting stuck halfway.

“Look, I just wanted you to watch a movie with me, completely incident-free, because I like to spend time with you,” Thomas avoided his eyes, his face unhappy. Or maybe even a little angry, Newt suddenly couldn’t tell. “But if it’s a problem, fine. I know you said you won’t come at first, so I guess pushing you into this was a mistake I wouldn’t repeat again. I am sorry. For what is worth to you.”

“No, Thomas, stop,” Newt countered quickly. “Listen to me, this is not… I haven’t thought about you like this, alright?”

“Right,” the writer mumbled, his shoulders dropping, but this time too low and defeated. The posture hit Newt like a ton of bricks. It felt wrong seeing the other man like this, he already knew from before. Sad and lost, it suddenly took another turn, and this time Newt couldn’t put his finger on it. Seeing him like this, not even fighting back, just accepting the fact, made the blonde’s stomach clench.

_I hate it. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. I can’t watch this. I can’t stand it._

“Look, this is really not about you,” he started weakly, searching for the right words. Even the beginning already made him cringe. _It’s not you, it’s me_ was the worst excuse ever and he hated himself for such attempt.

“It’s not a problem,” Thomas muttered, apparently fighting with himself about what action his body should take. He looked something between wanting to run and needing to prove he could take it. “Sorry for dragging you all the way here. I should have known better.”

He should have known better? Known better what? That Newt is going to freak out like a pro from the possibility of them sharing _a moment_? Getting scared he may actually become fond of him? That he would eat his bloody food and find out it’s great, and that he looks natural in the kitchen? And they would curl on that stupid cleaned up couch and watch a weird ass movie, and Thomas would probably point out all the stupid stuff about robots, and Newt would nudge him to shut up, and then probably even lean to the warmth like an idiot, and maybe really bloody fall asleep, because Thomas is _safe_ and comfortable. And he would spend the night, because yeah, why the hell not, and wake up with this guy next to him, and it would all crash and burn and he would get sappy and starting to look closely and noting how dark his eyelashes actually are, and how long and what the hell, maybe he has prettier eyelashes than a girl, is that even legal? And then it all would just get moronic and he would probably kiss the air out of him, because he would be so close and so warm and so nice, and Newt was just so, so, so screwed.

He gasped; a complete stupor overcame his body.

“Oh, bloody hell no…” he groaned, aloud, and it made Thomas look back at him, his face unreadable.

Newt’s mind suddenly got calm, as if everything fit exactly at its place. He knew him for _days_ only, but this whole mess got crystal clear once he realized something broke in him probably that day in the office. Yes, he fell in love with the story and the writing. But even though he tried to ignore its author and fought against it with every inch of his body, Thomas hadn’t relented and not even Newt’s “friendly” attitude hadn’t stopped him from reaching out and trying to know him better.

It all came to this moment - this painful revelation that dawned on him like tsunami, sweeping every doubt from any corner of his mind, leaving only the acceptance, and also a shame and strange dissatisfaction with the current situation.

Thomas stared at him incredulously. His expression was closed off, but eyes were full of heavy emotions that spoke to Newt on some weird, spiritual level. He didn’t know for how long he stood there, silent, but then Thomas avoided his eyes and looked out of the window, to the rainy afternoon.

“I’ll call you a taxi,” he said quietly. “The weather sucks.”

“I’m not leaving,” Newt said simply. He alone was surprised how easily he could say that.

“What?” Thomas snapped his attention back at him, his face suddenly full of emotions changing rapidly. _Shock, worry, confusion, wonder_. Newt couldn’t pick the dominant one, it all mingled together.

“I am not leaving,” he repeated, feeling his face slowly breaking into a lazy smile. He felt a little sorry for Thomas now, for how confused he made him in a matter of a few minutes.

“I don’t understand?” the writer offered, a little annoyed. “You just said…”

“I am an idiot, that’s what I said,” Newt sighed, running his hand through his messy blond hair. Thomas tracked the movement carefully with his eyes, apparently captivated by the gesture, but stayed quiet.

“You cooked for me,” Newt pointed.

“Yes,” Thomas said curtly.

“Why?” a question Newt knew the basic answer for, but out of morbid curiosity he wanted to hear it as well.

“You said you want Thai,” came a reply. Thomas looked on the verge of uncomfortable.

“So if I said I want you naked on a plate with lobster sauce all over, you would go and do it?” the blond cocked his head to the side, watching Thomas expectantly and the writer sputtered, his face heating up.

“It’s ok to say yes, you know,” Newt shrugged. Thomas cleared his throat awkwardly, looking anywhere but on the blonde, his body tensing and relaxing in waves as if he couldn’t chose.

“You are too fucking confusing, Newt, I can’t even… what’s going on?” he wailed, gesturing wildly. “You were ready to leave just a minute ago!”

“You looked sad.”

“What?” the writer stop all the movement in surprise.

“You looked sad and I hated it,” Newt mumbled, probably too quiet to be heard properly. “And I didn’t know I hate it, but I do.”

The writer’s face fell a little, shame and guilt passed his features, and Newt hated it even more. He took a cautious step forward. Then another one. And two more, until he was standing in front of Thomas and could count his eyelashes one by one.

“This is bit of deja vue, but… tell me again?” he whispered softly and Thomas eyes darkened, his pupils blown to the complete blackness.

“I think I love you.”

“Okay,” Newt said gently.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Thomas mumbled.

“Okay.”

“Tell me?” the writer asked in a small, lost voice and Newt smiled:

“I am bloody hungry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank youuuuuuuu Misssushicat! <3 For all your support and your opinion and your advices and the beta! <3 ily!
> 
> This chapter was hard to write, but also somewhat easy to get out of my chest. It's a bit angsty, I apologize, but it needed to be done <3  
> Did you like it, I wonder? Did it come out okay? Tell me what you think <3
> 
> Thank you all for reading and commenting and everything, you are just the best <3


	9. Thai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That’s stupid.”  
> “Shh, you will miss the best part!”  
> “It’s ridiculous.”  
> “Newt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tiny M rating at the end of the chapter.

The kitchen was steamy and smelled amazing. Fogged windows made Newt feel like in a sauna, and if the colourful food boiling in pots didn’t snatch his attention to them, he would probably made an attempt to ventilate the heavy aroma lingering in the air.

For how messy Thomas usually was, the kitchen looked surprisingly organized, even with all the ingredients out at the desk and ready to use. Newt watched the young writer at work, chopping and simmering, and couldn’t help but wonder what else this guy was going to surprise him with. His talents already extended from almost flawless writing to complicated cooking, and Newt grudgingly admitted he exceeded him already. All he could do consisted of scrambled eggs and instant food, since he never had the patience to dance around the stove for hours.

“Is there anything you can’t do?” he asked with a smirk, watching how Thomas stirred the sauce fluidly, tasting it with a spoon. His wide shoulders were still a little stiff, Newt could tell, but he added it to the nervousness, or maybe the anticipation of what’s going to happen. He couldn’t blame him, noting how his own body tantalized like a string, making him jumpy and restless.

“Reading minds would be cool,” Thomas replied, glancing at Newt uncertainly. “Come here.”

“I won’t taste any good,” Newt opposed, but approached the writer anyway, noting how his lips curled into a smile at the notion, and raised the spoon up for Newt to see.

“Try it?”

Newt looked down at the spoon dubiously and then back at Thomas. A silent question if Thomas is serious stayed unspoken, but Newt pushed it out of his mind and tasted the offered sample without a word, trying to ignore how Thomas’ eyes lightened up.

“So?” the writer asked curiously and Newt nodded few times. The taste was good, even though a little too spicy, but it warmed him up fast.

“Good,” he commented, licking his lips appraisingly. Thomas followed the swept of his tongue with a sharp breath, and quickly averted his eyes back to the pot, visibly recoiling. His free hand twitched at his side as if he wanted to touch, but didn’t know if he can. It was surprisingly endearing and Newt chuckled at the thought, intentionally leaning closer towards the writer to have a better look at the consistency of the sauce. He noted Thomas’ sudden stiffness, but stayed put and took the spoon from his hand, taking another spoonful from the sauce towards his mouth.

“Where did you learn to cook like this?” he asked as in a matter of speech, blowing the scorching temperature away, and it finally gave Thomas the courage to actually reach out and rest his hand on the small of Newt’s back. The touch was tentative at first, unsure and barely felt, but when Newt didn’t make any move against it, the pressure intensified until there was no doubt about the contact, burning trough Newt’s shirt.

Thomas cleared his throat before speaking, but the touch stayed.

“I used to live with a big bunch during college,” he answered softly. “We had this… Spanish pair there who loved to travel – and cook. Jorge always came up with the map and asked us to pick a country on Monday. What we picked was the food we got for lunch. Italian, Greek, Thai – whatever. He had been everywhere.”

“Sounds handy,” Newt piped, sipping from the spoon carefully. Thomas cleared his throat again, his hand traveling a little higher along Newt’s spine as if he tried to find some stability.

“Yeah, and he taught us how to cook some stuff…” he trailed off, watching Newt with wide eyes, and the blond admitted he probably crossed the line with the spoon licking.

“Sorry,” he put the offensive cutlery on the desk. “So he taught you how to cook.”

“Some of us,” Thomas mumbled, staring at his companion intensely as if he was trying to solve him like a puzzle. “And only something. We got nicknames based on that.”

“Nicknames based on what you could make?” Newt turned around, his back leaning against the kitchen desk. Thomas hand slid all the way around Newt’s waist during the turn and now rested on his hip delicately. Newt was a little surprised how much he didn’t mind the proximity and left it there without any evident reaction.  

“You got called _hermano_ if you never learned anything. Or he named you after the food you were good at,” Thomas croaked. “Never called us by our normal names though.”

“So you were… Thai?” Newt guessed, looking at the prepared food and Thomas’ hand moved higher again, to Newt’s side

“Nope, sushi,” the writer answered and Newt snorted, almost missing how Thomas took a hesitant step forward, bringing them even closer together. Suddenly they stood so close to each other that if Newt leaned not even an inch forward, he would be kissing Thomas without a problem.

“I just want to make sure,” Thomas’ voice dropped into a hoarse whisper. It sent shivers down Newt’s spine. “That you are really, _really_ here.”

“ _I am_ ,” the blond whispered back, slowly reaching towards Thomas’ hip, dragging his fingers over the belt on his jeans, hooking his finger though the loop. His heart beat loudly in his ears he swore Thomas had to hear it as well. He tried to calm down, control his breathing that started to shorten into quick puffs, but it was harder than he thought. The closeness finally got to him, anticipation and fear mingled together as one, waiting for something, _anything_.  

Thomas’ other hand touched Newt’s neck, gently sliding over the pulse point with his thumb, up his jaw and down to his collar bone, as if he was mapping him, memorizing every curve.

“This is real,” the writer murmured. His voice sounded small and lost and Newt couldn’t find the reason. He tugged a little at the loop, trying to snap Thomas out of the trance he fell into and when it didn’t help, he flicked at his forehead without warning. It made Thomas jolt, successfully getting him out of wherever he dropped to.

“Ow,” he voiced accusingly.

“Pay attention,” Newt pushed to his shoulder in a light, half-hearted shove. “Aren’t you cooking?”

“Oh crap!”

That got things moving again, Thomas quickly jumping over the stove, turning the heat down, and getting the rest of the ingredients ready to mingle.

Newt took a ragged breath, finally releasing the edge of the table he held on to during the whole scene with one hand and felt his knuckles hurt a bit.

_Calm the bloody hell down._

He arrived to this place without a single thought that included touching or anything even a little reminding of the current situation, and suddenly he was on board with the thought of Thomas crowding him against the kitchen desk and who knows what else (Newt was aware of what else, very much so, and his consciousness trembled under the onslaught of _yes, why not, c’mon, I want it, I want it_ ).

He took a deep breath, calming down a little. The sudden rush Thomas brought into this made him get his mind out of the gutter and think clearly again, all the smells and vapours coming back.

Who would want to have the first intimate memory connected to the smell of curry, right?

“It’s done,” Thomas’ voice came back to him and he quickly looked back at the writer, who was currently getting plates out of the cupboard. “Hope it’s edible. I haven’t cooked Thai for few years already.”

“Well, it smells good,” Newt offered. His voice sounded a little strained, but Thomas thankfully hadn’t noticed.

“I will get the movie ready, yeah?” the writer suggested, putting plates on the desk. “Can you get food?”

“On it,” Newt nodded quickly, happy to finally be able to do something else than _watch_ and _think_ , and walked towards the stove. He definitely wasn’t prepared for the slap that landed on his butt when Thomas walked around him, and before he could even react, the writer was already gone, leaving Newt standing dumbfounded in the middle of the kitchen.

“Priceless!” he heard from the living room along with Thomas’ laughter and tried to ignore the deep, hot blush creeping up to his face.

***

“That’s stupid.”

“Shh, you will miss the best part!”

“It’s ridiculous.”

“Newt.”

“Sorry, but it’s so weird,” Newt pointed at the TV, his feet under his legs, hugging a pillow he snatched from under Thomas. “That guy is insane.”

“Newt is cool,” Thomas opposed, grinning when the blond rolled his eyes at the name. “He is just little out of the real world, is all.”

“His voice is painfully annoying,” Newt remarked. “Spending one day with him in a closed room and I’d explode.”

“Well… yes, he is a loud type, I guess,” the writer shrugged, still grinning like an idiot, apparently pleased about the situation. “But he is lovable.”

“Yeah, sure, maybe for the other weird-ass guy with him,” Newt grumbled.

“Hermann you mean?” Thomas inquired happily and Newt shrugged. He hadn’t been paying full attention to the movie, so names and lot of small stuff escaped him. He was already a little sleepy from all the food he ate and it made him less concentrated.

“The cranky mathematician,” he clarified which made Thomas nod with a laugh. Newt noticed how with each conversation they had over the movie Thomas inched a little closer, already tracing lazy circles on Newt’s arm with his extended hand, and it didn’t escape him how another inch got added by now.

_Cuddling on a couch? Check._

The list of clichés went through his head each and every time Thomas made an attempt to do something too mushy, and Newt, being apparently without rational thoughts by today, let him do it.

When they settled back to the companionable silence while another absolutely illogical scene unravelled, Newt sighed deeply. Well, he brought this on himself. He should have known Thomas is a touchy feely guy, and for some reason he didn’t mind the warmth from his touches lingering on his bare skin where the sleeve had ridden up. The distance between them diminished by at least a feet since the movie started and Newt had enough.

He took the pillow he held defensively in his arms until now and pushed it into Thomas’ face like a boxer, earning an “oof” in response, leaving it there when the writer caught it. When he had been busy with that, Newt crawled towards him swiftly, shoving him to the lying position on his back and settling atop of him.

“God, you are bony,” he grumbled when a knee dug into his thigh and he repositioned himself carefully, earning a groan from his partner.

“Sorry,” Thomas whined in return, skimming back awkwardly, but Newt pinned him down by his shoulders, stilling him. “Newt-,”

“Just calm down,” the editor sighed. “I am not going to sing you a Rebecca Black’s song and strap you to the couch.”

“Oh my god,” Thomas wheezed, half in humiliation and half in laughter. “That’s not _the case-_ ,”

“Stay still!”

“ _Newt_ -,”

“Oh.”

Newt stopped, slowly but surely realizing it wasn’t _a knee_ that poked him before, and lowered his eyes below Thomas waist.

“Is that your gun or are you happy to see me?” he asked in a serious tone, but it broke down at the last word and he burst in laughter. Thomas never looked more mortified.

“I am sorry-,” he started with an embarrassment dripping from his voice, squirming under Newt’s weight, but Newt didn’t budge, hiccupping with giggles.

“Oh my god, good thing we haven’t watched Transformers if those giant robots made you sprung a boner already,” he gasped through the giggling fits and Thomas groaned again.

“Very funny,” he shot back at Newt tightly. “Just _please_ , can you-,”

“No can do,” the blond smirked, finally able to control his midriff again.

“Newt…” Thomas breathed out, defeated, his eyes almost pleading and Newt smiled sweetly. There was no way he was letting him out of it that easily. It was just too good to pass and he had to hold himself from laughing again from the sheer absurdity of the moment. One pounce was all it took for him? That was _priceless._

He looked down with a Cheshire cat’s grin on his face, his fingers slowly descending on Thomas’ chest, trailing towards the bare skin where the shirt had ridden up, revealing the treasure trail disappearing under the waistband.

Thomas threw his head back and moaned like a wounded animal.

_That’s a sound I can get easily used to._

“Need a hand, _Tommy_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetad, but we should remedy that soon ^.^ 
> 
> I hope this chapter is not too jumpy QQ I've tried to reveal a bit more of Thomas' background (thank you for the inquiry Lucky11!! <3), but not as much yet :)
> 
> Also... yeah. So that happened. Giant robots are such a turn on, yeah? :o :D
> 
> Feedbacks are loved! And thank you all who left a comment here, for all your lovely suggestions and that you care and ask about stuff you would like to know (feel free to ask or tell me what you think, what would you like to see or anything that bothers you about this! <3), and in overall THANK YOU SO MUCH! Words can't really express my gratitude, but I squeal with each and every comment and I love you all <3


	10. On Board

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of M rating around the middle.

Newt noticed how Thomas held his breath for a second and waited. The writer’s face went through several expressions, starting with _lust_ to _need_ over _conflict_ into _determination_ , and it made him wonder what is going through Thomas’ head, until he suddenly pulled Newt down, crushing him in a hug.

“What the-,”

“Just stay still,” the brunet mumbled into his hair, pressing light kisses on top of his head.

“Thomas-,”

“Please.”

Newt grumbled something under his breath, giving up any attempt to free himself and huffed, going still in the embrace.

“This is really not what I had in mind, you know,” he uttered to Thomas’ shirt he was pressed into. “Just let me-,”

“No,” Thomas refused immediately. “Not like this.”

“What the hell was that supposed to mean?” Newt started to move again, trying to set free, but Thomas only held him tighter.

“I want it to be… better,” Thomas whispered. “Slower.”

“Slower?” Newt asked dubiously, finally breaking Thomas’ hold and propping on his hands, frowning down at the brunet. “What? You looked like you are ready to jump me several times already, what do you mean _slower?_ ”

It didn’t make any sense. In the kitchen he actually looked like he is on the verge of bending Newt over the counter, or at least as if he was keeping himself from being all over him, touching and mapping, and suddenly he wanted to go _slow_?

“I mean I don’t want your _hand,_ ” the writer conceded firmly, staring right at Newt, his eyes intense. His hands rested on Newt’s thighs, not really holding him, only touching carefully. “I want _all of you._ And _I want_ it to be perfect.”

Newt stared back, his eyes narrowed. Perfect, he said.

_What the hell is he expecting? Candles? Beach under the moonlight? Bloody rose petals over the bed?_

“I am not a teenage girl that needs to be impressed by pompous romantic gestures, Thomas,” he informed him sternly. “The fact you want this, and I am on board with it as well, is _enough._ ”

“It’s not _enough_ for me,” Thomas shot back, determined. “I want to know you better and get this _on board_ later.”

Newt did a double check on what he just heard and blinked few times in confusion.

“What are you, fifteen?” he echoed and Thomas sighed, exasperated. He slid his hands away from Newt’s thighs and pushed himself up, so they were almost face to face, with Newt still straddling his legs.

“Are we seriously fighting over sex?” the brunet asked in a low voice and Newt flinched. Well, wasn’t sex the main thing that held two people attracted to each other together? It was, right? It always had been. Without intimacy the pair just slowly drifted away. _He_ drifted away, distancing. When the feeling stopped drawing him to the person as strongly as before, he felt like he was letting them down with his colder attitude. It was all about that, right?

Thomas watched him expectantly, and Newt frowned a bit more under the scrutiny.

“No,” he uttered in response. He didn’t want to fight with him about anything, let alone sex.

“Alright,” Thomas nodded, his hands resuming their position on Newt’s body, this time on his waist. “Because that would be stupid.”

“I just don’t want you to treat me like a damsel in distress who is waiting for prince Charming,” Newt confided a little roughly. Thomas’ grip grew stronger, more sure.

“I’m not planning to,” he assured him, rubbing lazy circles into his skin. “But I also don’t want to rush this. I already messed up at the beginning, so…”

The memory of the first kiss Thomas basically forced on him made Newt only hum in response, focusing on touches instead. Thomas was warm and comfortable and Newt followed his lead willingly when the writer dropped down again, pulling the blond with him.

“So what about your problem in the lower region?” Newt asked quietly, resting his head on Thomas’ shoulder, relishing the feeling of how Thomas was running fingers through his hair. He wriggled experimentally and his partner hissed.

“Stop moving, geez,” Thomas warned him, stilling him with the other hand around his waist.

“That must be uncomfortable,” Newt commented with a smirk. “You sure you don’t want to take care of it?”

“It’s _fine_ ,” Thomas grumbled from under him. “If you _stopped_ wriggling around like a huge tease, it would be _even better_.”

“It’s poking me,” Newt piped and it made Thomas groan loudly, adjusting his position awkwardly, angling his hips to the side. It made Newt snort, rolling his eyes.

“You are so stubborn,” he stated, deciding he wouldn’t make it any easier for him and stayed put, resting with his full weight on him.

“I’m an Aries after all,” Thomas uttered in deep concentration, finally falling into ideal position. “Stubbornness comes with the package.”

Newt smirked, a thought of Teresa and her horoscopes flashing through his mind.

“Yeah, that makes two of us,” he smirked, watching Thomas fumble around to find the remote control and rewinding the part of the movie they missed (something about closing a breach? What?). Once Thomas settled back, throwing the remote behind him and pulling Newt closer, the blond sighed deeply. If Teresa saw him now, she would laugh her ass off after cooing like an old lady with cats.

***

“Spend the night here?” A sudden rumble woke him up from the half sleep he fell into and he felt slightly disoriented for a second. He laid sprawled atop of Thomas, feeling warm and tired. He apparently dozed off because the TV was dark already and the room swam in silence.

“Hmm?” he hummed without looking up, only nuzzling back into Thomas shirt and warmth, sliding his fingers around Thomas’ neck, playing with his hair.

“Sleep here today,” Thomas’ voice said again, rich and deep with an added thundering coming from his chest.

“Oh?” Newt’s lips widened into a lazy smile and he pulled at Thomas’ hair a little stronger. “Is that an order, _sir_?”

“You don’t strike me as a person who takes orders,” Thomas chuckled and it made Newt finally rose his head and look at Thomas’ smiling face. He looked even sleepier than Newt felt, his expression relaxed and eyes half lidded.

“That would be correct,” Newt grinned, pulled a little more up and found a comfortable spot in between Thomas’ thighs. “But I can be persuaded.”

“A cat,” the writer mumbled, his expression suddenly thoughtful and Newt blinked. The sudden change of topic made his head spin a little.

“A cat?”

“You’re like a cat,” Thomas explained the line of thoughts and his hands slowly dropped from Newt’s back to his waist, gently rubbing up and down. “Dangerous when you don’t want to be petted. But seductive when you demand attention.”

“I can also purr if you rub my belly,” Newt chirped with a straight face before a laugh escaped his lips and Thomas joined him immediately.

“I wouldn’t mind purring,” the writer noted in between chuckles, touching Newt’s face tenderly, tracing his cheekbones and ending at his lips. “You would make a great cat. A ruler.”

“Of Egypt,” Newt smirked, feeling bold and meeting Thomas’s thumb with his tongue, licking it teasingly. Thomas made a strangled noise in the back of his throat and Newt pushed his hand aside, swiftly leaning forward and capturing his lips uncompromisingly.

Thomas whimpered against his mouth, but responded immediately, his hands suddenly pressing him closer to his body, his lips languidly moving against Newt’s until he suddenly bit Newt’s lower lip and exploited the blonde’s gasp to cave deep. Newt mind went blank when their tongues met and the kiss turned wild. He was only barely aware that his own body moved stubbornly forward, pulling at Thomas’ shirt to keep him close, and that Thomas wasn’t lying anymore, but fighting up, his hands traveling to Newt’s neck and his spine, holding him at place. His lips were hot and demanding, opening up and devouring Newt’s sanity. There was moaning echoing the room and it took Newt a moment to realize it’s _him_ doing it, while he licked into Thomas’ mouth and pulled at his clothes, needing to get closer and hotter.

He felt the need for air pulling at the corner of his mind, but he ignored it, angling just enough for Thomas to slip a hand down his back to his hip, trailing along his thigh and suddenly grabbing him under the knee and toppling him against the couch. The sudden reversal allowed them to separate for a second, Newt gulping air quickly, his chest raising and falling in fast pace. He dragged the brunet back down to him, instinctively opening his legs and letting Thomas to nestle between them, and suddenly it was there, the friction that made his eyes roll back in his skull and toes curl. He quickly hooked his legs up Thomas’ hips and trapped him there, biting and scraping his jaw and capturing his lips over and over again. The mad pace and frantic touching made his hips buck up, just to meet sporadic thrusts from his partner pressing him back down, taking control.

“Newt-,” Thomas suddenly spoke up, his voice rough and breathless, and Newt decided to ignore it, latching himself at the writer’s throat instead.

“Newt-!” his name sounded needier now, insistent and he hummed in response to indicate he heard him loud and clear but refused to answer.

“Your phone-,” Thomas groaned when their hips met again and Newt hissed, a sparks of pleasure flooding his body like an adrenaline. “It’s ringing-!”

“Fuck my phone,” the blond growled, scraping his teeth along Thomas’ Adam’s apple.

“It’s been ringing for a long time already,” Thomas opposed, suddenly pulling away ( _no no no no, stop, come back, don’t do this to me!_ ) and Newt hopelessly followed the movement until they were suddenly sitting again and Thomas was reaching down for the bleeping phone.

It took Newt several seconds to recognize the “Born to be wild” song playing and his hazed mind connected it right after.

“It says _Alby_ ,” Thomas offered the gadget slowly, staring at the photo of Alby’s birthday party attire that Newt somewhere in the past added to his contact (a tight sweat shirt and lots of colourful chains around his neck, with a pointy _Happy Birthday_ hat sitting on his head).

Newt groaned, but took the phone from him and answered the call with Alby’s name.

“ _Hey man, what took you so long?_ ” Alby sounded a little strained and Newt frowned, trying to ignore Thomas’ close proximity and the heat coming from him.

“Sorry, I am a little busy, what’s up?” he drawled into the speaker, trying to convey the mood through, but Alby apparently didn’t hear it.

“ _I’m at your place and you’re not here!_ ”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Newt grumbled, letting his free hand wander along Thomas’ shoulder to his neck delicately, winking at him playfully. The writer smiled a little at that and settled comfortably under Newt’s weight.

“ _I was hoping for a little buddy talk_ ,” Alby continued in meantime. “ _Kinda need it_.”

“What?” Newt rolled his eyes to give Thomas a clue he is totally not interested in the call, but froze immediately when Alby dropped the bomb: “ _We broke up. Me and Clara_.”

“You what?!” he exclaimed with wide eyes and Thomas stopped the caressing of Newt’s hip abruptly. “Man, what happened? When?”

“ _Well, like… an hour ago, and… look, can you come?_ ” Alby’s voice broke down a little and Newt’s chest tightened painfully at the tone.

“Yeah, of course, I’m going right away,” he blurted out, disentangling from Thomas’ hold swiftly. “I’m on my way, Alby, just hold on. Stay at my place, yeah? I-I’ll come in few, just-just hold on.”

He felt frantic and a little panicky, and the fear urged him forward, taking his things up, dressing quickly.

“ _Yeah… thanks man_.”

“Don’t sweat it. You know I’m here for you,” he said in a small voice, his throat dry. “Give me 15 minutes, yeah? I will see you soon.”

“ _Yeah, ok_ ,” Alby answered slowly and Newt tucked away his phone fast and put on shoes in jerky movements how his body trembled. He grabbed his coat and reached for the door when it suddenly struck him.

He turned around abruptly, noting Thomas still sitting at the couch, his eyes wide and confused.

“Sorry,” he breathed out. “I am really sorry, I gotta go. Alby has… I gotta go.”

“Uh-,” Thomas opened his mouth, but nothing proper came out, so he closed it again.

“I will text you or… whatever, sorry.”

He was out of the flat before the writer could even blink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you misssushicat! <3 Your beta is just the Sun of my sky! <3
> 
> This chapter has probably every possible stupidity in it. It has a bit of fluff. Bit of M rating. Bit of angst. Bit of a stupid cliffhanger. I am sorry for all of these things QQ  
> I swear I will explain in the next chapter as well as kick Newt in the shin for leaving Tom alone in there, but yeah. Boys *.*
> 
> Thank you all for your suggestions, comments and support! I love you all, you are making me want to continue <3  
> I also realized Newt is bloody hard to write! He has that... strange mind to get into, you have no idea :D Cutie pie :D
> 
> Feedbacks are, as always, loved to bits <3


	11. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The strange ache in his chest suddenly made perfect sense and everything rushed to him like an unforgiving tidal wave. He left this guy, this actually sweet and caring and cooking and writing and everything nice man alone in his apartment, and rushed away, without a proper apology. He left him. He run away after the most intense make out session that didn’t even have time to morph into a fully-fledged love making, with Alby’s name on his lips.

Newt burst into the flat like a tsunami wave, throwing his keys on the drawer and almost tripping when he tried to get shoes off too fast. The flat was lit up, but quiet, and Newt was afraid what he was going to find inside. He stopped right at the entrance to the living room, immediately spotting Alby sitting on the couch with his face hidden in his palms. He jolted upright right the moment Newt approached and tentatively touched his shoulder, and his face changed from shock to sadness in a second.

Newt didn’t say anything, only sat next to him quietly, bumping their shoulders together. He knew Alby for _years_ and seeing him down felt wrong on so many levels he couldn’t even count them all. He always had a troubled love life – short lived relationship thanks to his impatience to take things slow (no rushing things, take it slower, get to know each other better, Newt understood in a way, but Alby never did), but this seemed worse, mainly because of the fact how badly Alby seemed to take it. He always showed a substantial amount of sadness at every break up, but never like this.

“Feel free to say it,” Alby mumbled after a long silence and Newt closed his eyes, sighing deeply.

“No.”

“You were right,” Alby continued, his tone low and tired. “You’re always right. I never listen. You told me so.”

“That’s not true,” the blond opposed, opening his eyes just for a fraction. “If you always listened to me, you’d end up alone.”

“I ended up alone anyway,” his companion uttered bitterly. “Even worse.”

“What happened then?” Newt glanced at him, his tone soft and careful. He could only blame himself for not knowing the most of it, he distanced right the moment Clara flooded into Alby’s life, feeling not needed and maybe also a little fed up with girls that circled the man. Alby never stayed alone for long and Newt never blamed him for it, but he was man enough to admit it stung a little at times to be ditched because of yet another useless date that’s going to end the same. He considered Alby his best friend, even though he himself sucked as someone who was titled in the same manner. Alby always stuck around though and Newt realized he never actually told him he is grateful for that.

“Well, what do you think?” Alby replied. “I thought it’s the perfect setting. I took her to the Planetarium, she loves it. And I asked her, because it was the right time I thought, you know?”

Newt remained silent. _The right time_. When do you know it’s the right time to do _anything_? How can anyone be sure? Where do they even take the courage to actually step up and confess something this intimate and make themselves vulnerable? Newt never did, he realized suddenly. He never actually took the risk; he just went with the flow. He never confessed first, never initiated intimacy first, never even _kissed_ anyone first.

Except for Thomas.

“And she just looked at me,” Alby’s now angrier voice brought him fast back to reality, but the strange ache in his chest stayed. “And said: A proposal? Really? And all I thought about was: Fuck, that’s what Newt said. And she gave me a 5 minutes long monologue about how I rush into things without thinking, and how is she fed up already, and she took the box with the ring and threw it at me.”

“She really threw it?” Newt raised an eyebrow and Alby sighed.

“Yeah, and it fell down somewhere and now it’s lost and I don’t even care.”

“Ah,” Newt chimed. “That’s rough, buddy.”

“I thought about going to drink a lot, you know, forget for the night,” Alby added, pulling the sleeve of his shirt ( _a nice shirt_ , Newt mused. Dressed up and all, he expected it to be smooth). “But then I remembered what you always said about alcohol and just gave up and went here. And you weren’t at home.”

“Yeah,” Newt nodded slowly.

“So I called you, and no you weren’t picking up, so I used the key to check so you didn’t fall into a coma, and you weren’t here, and…” Alby threw his hands up in a big gesture. “Where were you, anyway?”

“Working,” Newt mumbled. His hands were cold, he could feel it. They always were when he lied. Alby only hummed and pushed himself further over the couch, sprawling like a man who walked thousand miles. He looked exhausted and Newt didn’t doubt he actually was.

“I won’t do it again,” his colleague insisted. “Short term relationships suck. Dating is fucking important. I’ll be prude and won’t kiss them sooner than on like… fifth date.”

Newt chuckled, patting Alby’s leg that rested next to him now.

“Good luck with that.”

“No, but really,” the man declared. “You’ve always been saying that, right? You just can’t jump into a relationship unprepared, or move in together after two weeks, or trust them on that matter after few days that they are fucking honest and they feel it the same as you do.”

“Well-,”

“Because that’s fucking bullshit, right?” Alby interrupted Newt’s weak response fiery. “I mean, I still think you can feel attracted after first sight, but man, a relationship is a no-go until you are _sure_ , right? When I think about it now, I just totally get how you felt when that writer of yours told you he loves you, after what, two days? Bullshit.”

Newt opened his mouth to say something, but no words came. He was very well aware how shocked he had been after the first kiss and how badly he described the incident to Alby that day in the pub. Attacked by a guy he knew for two days, who got on his nerves by the enthusiasm and never-ending chattering, who ate messily and never really cleaned up his clothes, but who wrote so fantastic he decided to overlook those small annoying details (annoying, really? Were those things really annoying or was he so caught up in the fact that the guy tried to pull him out from his shell and actually show him there was something else to care about than a paper and ink, and words without meaning when you don’t look deep?). And when he got past the fact that the cliché about “love” _can_ be applied to him also, even after _two_ stupid days, and that it didn’t need to mean _offering_ anything heavy in return, only the affection and fondness he already received, it suddenly all made sense and it almost knocked the air out of Newt lungs.

Thomas didn’t want him to submit. He refused his advances with the wish to _take it slow_. To _know each other better_. He expressed a wish to _have all of Newt_ , not just sex without the sparkling inside your whole body, without the warmth spreading through all of you by a single touch, without gasping the name in a never ending mantra. He apparently _wanted_ and _relished_ , but held back all the same until Newt advanced it by himself, for the first time in his whole life, when he kissed him and felt the hotness and the need and suddenly nothing was enough. Thomas wasn’t close enough, didn’t touch him enough, he wanted him all and right at the moment, fuck the consequences. And it probably surprised both of them and Thomas let his guard down, and suddenly couldn’t stop the _need_ and _touch_ and _take, take, take_. And Newt _wanted_ , he was ready to _beg_ , but…

“You okay?” Alby’s voice startled him into a full body flinch, his companion stared at him curiously, eyes searching. He forgot about Alby’s presence altogether, lost in his own thoughts and feelings, and it made him realize he _changed_.

“When did I become you?” Newt whispered desperately. “And when did you become me?”

Alby smiled a little at that, even though the usually pleased gesture seemed sad and little pained now.

“I guess the experience is what makes us?”

“Yeah…” Newt looked down at his freezing hands and frowned. Here he was supposed to comfort his best friend, but instead of that he depressed himself by the stupid fact he’d lost his ability to shut everything out, and fell for a guy who he knew for such a short time.

He bloody fell in love with Thomas.

The strange ache in his chest suddenly made perfect sense and everything rushed to him like an unforgiving tidal wave. He left this guy, this actually sweet and caring and cooking and writing and everything nice man alone in his apartment, and rushed away, without a proper apology. He left him. He run away after the most intense make out session that didn’t even have time to morph into a fully-fledged love making, with Alby’s name on his lips.

Just like that.

_Just bloody like that. Fuck my life._

“Alby,” he called his colleague without glancing back at him and heard a rustling sound until Alby was sitting next to him again. “Did Clara break up with you for good?”

“I think so, yeah,” he answered with a little surprised tone. “She threw that ring, remember?”

“Maybe she was just upset you didn’t talk to her about it first?”

“Isn’t that the point? You know, a moment of surprise?” Alby opposed with raised eyebrows and Newt leaned back, until he was lying down, staring to the ceiling.

“I guess,” he admitted. “If you are sure.”

Was he sure? Was Thomas the constant he wanted in his life? Did it even matter now, when he left him there like a stray dog?

“Well, I was sure and see where it took me,” Alby grumbled. “Sometimes I wish I could see into other people’s heads. Would save so much trouble.”

“True,” Newt agreed lightly. Thomas expressed that wish too today. A strange parallel.

“How come I was so blind all this time?” Alby groaned unhappily next to him. “You warned me right at the moving in and I had known her for… what, one month?”

“Two weeks,” Newt corrected him with a smirk. He remembered this well because he spitted it to Alby’s face like the biggest argument against the decision. It didn’t work.

“Geez, two weeks. I knew her for two weeks and took her to my apartment, can you believe it?”

“Sadly it’s not about believing, it happened,” Newt glanced at him, not keen on teasing, but a little nag was needed.

“Yeah… but hell, she could have said no?” Alby offered with a frown. “She said yes, and she looked so happy. And then bam! Serious decision number two and it blew in my face like bad fireworks.”

“Marriage is kinda big,” Newt shrugged, wriggling out of his coat and throwing it on the ground. Geez, he already adopted Thomas’ manners.

“Yes, but we already lived together, and she even talked about kids…”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, she said she wanted a kid,” Alby nodded thoughtfully. “And I thought – yeah, so. Family, right? Then we should get married.”

“Wow,” Newt whistled. “Yeah, I can see where that came from, I guess.”

“Yeah, I thought so too,” Alby mumbled. “But oh well. Two weeks is a short time, now I know. As well as half a year for big decisions. No more of that. Brings only trouble.”

“Yeah…” Newt piped. Two weeks were a short time. How long he knew Thomas by now? A week? He was even worse than Alby.

“Say, Newt,” Alby patted him on his belly, a thrum of fingers to catch his attention. “Since when you work on Saturdays?”

“Since my client is going to be a death of me,” the blond muttered, pressing his lips into a thin, worried line.

“Oh, so are you still working with him?” Alby seemed taken back and Newt didn’t like it. Was it really this shocking? Did he lose his rational mind?

“Yeah,” Newt nodded slowly. “He wanted to quit writing. I thought it would be a waste.”

“Are you playing his personal coach?” his colleague watched him a little dubiously and Newt admitted had the right. This wasn’t Newt’s style. To be honest, it actually worked against everything he stood for until now. It made him all unsure about his own sanity and that never counted as a good sign.

“I think I’ve lost my bloody mind,” Newt whispered, more to himself than to Alby, but the man perked up anyway.

“Not working today then,” he commented thoughtfully, making Newt cringe at that. “You? Really? With a client?”

“You alone said it’s not against rules,” Newt protested weakly and Alby shrugged, corners of his mouth curling up a little.

“Nope, except it was against _your_ rules. He broke you down.”

“He did a lot of things.”

“And you left him and went here?” The question sent a wave of searing guilt through Newt’s whole body, it had almost physical power and he quickly sat up, taking a deep breath to calm down.

“Yes,” he uttered, even though the response wasn’t really needed. Alby looked at him a little accusingly, or maybe Newt imagined it (it would be so much like the old Alby after all, everything was in the name of love for him, but he wasn’t very sure about his current opinion), but then he ruffled his hair and stood up.

“So I guess you need a lift? Good thing I haven’t been drinking!” Alby concluded and dug into his pocket for the car keys, throwing them to the air and catching them flawlessly.

“Alby…” Newt sighed and his colleague grinned.

“Hey, c’mon. I’ve seen you in many states, but man. This is intense even for you,” he smiled and grabbed his jacket he apparently discarded at the armrest before Newt arrived. “You should have said so, really. I didn’t mean to drag you away from anything important. Was wondering why you sounded so pissy for a moment in the call.”

“You are my best friend,” Newt opposed. “I’d come anyway.”

“Maybe,” Alby zipped the jacket neatly and turned towards the entrance. “But now it’s fine. You helped me a bunch man. Now it’s my turn.”

When Newt remained seated, Alby stopped in his tracks, turning around in confusion.

“What?”

“I’ve known him for a week,” the blond mumbled.

“Yeah, I know,” Alby admitted carefully.

“We just talked about this,” Newt looked away, the strange ache returning forcefully. “Short-term and two days love confession is bullshit.”

“Sometimes even the bullshit is worth a shot,” Alby’s voice softened. “Do you really want to miss the chance because you are insecure?”

“One week.”

“Possibly many, many years of laughing about this with him if you yield,” Alby countered.

“I left him there without a proper explanation.”

“Then I believe you have some explaining to do,” the dark-skinned man pointed out. “The sooner the better, man.”

“What if he won’t listen?” Newt looked back at him, unsure and maybe a little lost.

“What if he will?”

“Yeah, what am I going to say then?” Newt barked a bitter laugh. Sweet talk wasn't his strong side.

“What do you want to tell him?” Alby crossed arms on his chest, encouraging him quietly. Newt hummed.

_I think I love you too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you sooooooooo much Misssushicat for the beta! <3 Sorry for the late update and all, forcing you to work this late QQ
> 
> I am terribly sorry for the stagnancy of this chapter. I felt like it's needed to stop for a while and let Newt think. I think him and Alby have a cool friendship, but I suppose it's for another time, since here it's mostly mushy feelings dragged out and all. I promise the next chapter is going to be back on the track with Tom :) Thank you for sticking with me, even after I threw up all this touchy-feely stuff in here QQ
> 
> Feedbacks are loved! <3  
> Thank you all for reading and commenting, love you! <3


	12. A Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Thomas. Tommy,” Newt stepped a little forward, carefully, even though his body thrummed like a wasp’s nest, ready to burst. “I just… spent bloody hours thinking about you instead of comforting my friend who just got dumped, I am bloody sure you are considered everything you want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A FANART! Oh my god, Staying Up got its own fanart! I am so proud! And honored! <3  
> Definitely check it here! http://spookyscarypliers.tumblr.com/post/100358571331/doodle-for-lokidiaboluss-newmas-fanfiction-c  
> I just can't QQ I am so happy QQ

Stairs were an obstacle at times, Newt never said otherwise. Some days he had no troubles, some days he swore under his breath and spitted hate to any possible direction when his leg refused to move properly. And at days like this one Newt doubted his ability to make it up without a breakdown.

Alby eyed him dubiously the whole way, noting every stop and pause, and even offered help (“Do I look like a cripple to you?!” “You look like you see stairs for the first time, buddy.”), until they finally reached the right floor where Newt stopped completely, fidgeting at the spot.

“So this is his place?” Alby asked curiously, looking at the three doors this floor had. Newt only hummed in response, staring at the middle one nervously. He prepared several speeches to open the conversation with, but each of them sounded strangled and weird. So he tried another version, and another, until he stood there without a proper one and a desperation slowly crawling on his back.

“Well, go on,” Alby nudged him lightly. “Don’t stand here like an idiot.”

“Alby-,” Newt started warningly, but his companion only grinned and quickly jumped to the middle door, knocked sharply and ran away with low chuckles, patting Newt’s shoulder when passing him.

Newt couldn’t even start to panic ( _not ready yet, I need more time, let me think about it more, please, just a little more, please, please, please_ ) when the door opened slowly, revealing Thomas in the same clothes he had when Newt left, and probably even the same expression of an utter confusion of seeing the blond at his doorstep. It was probably selfish, but Newt was grateful it wasn’t the girl who appeared there. It would probably break him down for sure.

Newt gulped audibly. He felt so small under the gaze of the writer – small and miserable and terribly guilty, and it got worse when Thomas’ face changed into a guarded one, a suspicion that stabbed Newt’s consciousness like a knife.

“Hey,” Newt breathed out, and it sounded lost and terribly unsure. Thomas didn’t react, only kept on watching him silently with a tight, worried angle of the corners of his lips.

“Sorry, I… messed up, I just…” Newt chided himself internally for the zero eloquence, like a child in front of their parents, trying to explain why it burned the house down with a single match. He knew he had to apologize. But no proper words came; nothing could possibly reach the level of remorse he felt.  

“Alby doesn’t _need_ you anymore?” Thomas asked, his voice cold and surprisingly angry. Not that he didn’t have the reason to be, he had every right in the world, but the tone still came as a shock.

Newt wanted to counter with something witty, but when only lame responses appeared in his mind, he settled on staying quiet, dropping his gaze to the ground.

The heavy silence stretched for several more seconds until he heard Thomas sigh.

“Is that it?” the writer asked and his voice made Newt flinch a little. “You have nothing else to say except that you _messed up_?”

“Alby is my best friend,” Newt replied, barely audible. A bad answer, he knew. When he glanced back at Thomas he understood how bad – the brunet was pinching the bridge of his nose, brows furrowed.

“That’s nice, really, I am delighted,” he growled back and Newt’s throat tightened, making him avoid his eyes shamefully. “But _I_ ‘m your _lover_ and I thought it meant something as well?”

_A lover_?

Newt snapped his head back up, staring at Thomas with wide eyes and it apparently made the writer re-think his last speech, searching for the cause.

“Unless… I’m not considered as such,” he added tiredly as if he just realized his mistake, and Newt choked on that implication.

“No, that’s-,” the blond stopped and drew a deep, shaky breath. This was it. He felt the anticipation and fear and longing all in one joined in a big jumbled mess in his mind. Every second he spent thinking how to deliver it the best way to express it accurately felt like a sting in his gut. Especially when he watched Thomas’ face falling slowly, from the righteous anger to infinite disappointment with failed attempts to gather his shattered pride around him.

“Thomas. _Tommy_ ,” Newt stepped a little forward, carefully, even though his body thrummed like a wasp’s nest, ready to burst. “I just… spent bloody _hours_ thinking about _you_ instead of comforting my friend who just got dumped, I am bloody sure you are considered _everything_ you want.”

Thomas blinked. Then blinked some more. And when he finally opened his mouth to say something, a loud cheering interrupted him, coming from his flat. Both of them froze and Thomas groaned right after “ _you are da man!”_ which ended the whistling.

“Fucking skype,” the writer grumbled. “Forgot I still had Minho on the line.”

Newt felt like the horrible weight of insecurity fell from his shoulders with a loud crash and he couldn’t help but laugh hysterically. This just couldn’t get any more cliché – he basically confessed his feelings in the hallway and a friend of his _lover_ just cheered them on. Thomas disappeared inside again, swearing loudly and Newt heard Minho cooing at him until he got cut off abruptly. It took several seconds until the writer appeared in the doorway again, his cheeks pink (might have been from Minho’s unfinished: “ _Tommy_ and Newt, sitting in the tree, k-i-s-.“, or maybe just the suggestions he kept on spouting).

Newt decided to keep quiet and wait, rather than trying to explain and apologize outside the safety of the flat, and it seemed Thomas appreciated the silence, looking thoughtful.

“You left so abruptly,” he spoke up after a moment.

“Yeah,” Newt agreed in a low voice.

“And said _whatever_ ,” Thomas continued, this time a little more strained. Newt cringed at that, a memory of “ _I will text you or… whatever, sorry_ ” flashing through his head. His social skills equalled zero for sure  - how did he even managed to exist until now without any social faux pas that would send him living in the mountains like a hermit?

“I am sorry,” he managed weakly, knowing very well it was a sucky apology.

“And because of _another guy_ ,” the writer added bitterly and Newt supressed a whimper fighting its way up his throat.

“Do you want to talk about this _here_?” he inquired instead, glancing around the hallway nervously. Thomas expression didn’t change, nor did he move. A clear _yes_ even without words made Newt straighten his shoulders a little.

“I panicked,” he said in a serious tone. “When Alby said she dumped him, I panicked, because he sounded like he could do something _stupid_ and I needed to _stop him_.”

No change.

“And I didn’t think. I just rushed there and I was _scared_ -,”

“Are you two close?” Thomas interrupted him suddenly and Newt recoiled, staring at the writer with wide eyes.

“We are friends,” he answered weakly.

“So if I called you in the middle of something and told you I needed you to come, you would leave everything, _everyone_ behind and run to me?” Thomas face was cold and unreadable and Newt felt his heart sink at that.

“Thomas, this is different-,”

“That’s a no then,” the writer stopped him curtly. The bad habit of interrupting him all the time got too close to home now and Newt frowned, his inner defence mechanism starting. Thomas had a good reason to think what he apparently thought, but not stubbornly letting Newt explain this was enough.

“No, that’s what I said. Different,” Newt barked. It made Thomas frown a little and Newt felt his desperation slowly morphing into an impatient anger. “Alby wanted to propose to his girl, but she broke up with him. If that was the case with you, I wouldn’t run to help, because it would bloody mean it wasn’t me who you asked and that’s not something I am comfortable with, alright?”

“Fuck,” came a reply and Newt took a deep breath for another even more embarrassing speech when Thomas suddenly grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. The door shut closed with a loud bang (the windows shook loudly at that) and Newt found himself crushed in a strong hug and lifted in the air. He almost couldn’t breathe for how strongly Thomas embraced him, but he didn’t even care. He put his arms around Thomas’ shoulders instead, returning the hug with a raw honesty.

“You fucking scared me,” he heard how Thomas whispered into his neck where he buried his face. “You just left for another guy and I didn’t know what’s going on, and you looked so serious and I felt like I couldn’t compete with that guy when you ran there like a loyal-,”

“If you say dog, I will kick you,” Newt interrupted him threateningly and Thomas chuckled, or maybe sobbed, the blond wasn’t sure. He squeezed him tighter though and Newt felt his feet dangling above the ground.

“But you are here.” It came barely as a whisper, a strange painful admission that made Newt squeeze his eyes shut and hold on.

“And you waited.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you soooo much misssushicat! <3 You are an awesome beta as always ;)
> 
> I hope, I hooooooope so much this chapter doesn't suck QQ It's a little shorter, but it felt right to end it at that point for now. 
> 
> Feedbacks are loved!  
> Thank you all for reading and commenting! <3 I am just so overwhelmed by the reception of this story I always want to cry with happiness when you tell me you like it QQ


	13. Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You are such an asshat,” he uttered, turned around and pushed Thomas back, smoothly swung his leg over and sat on his lap. “Giving me that stuff to read and expect I will just nod and bloody smile.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated M (for imMATURITY, cuz that's what I am QQ)

Sleeping with Thomas was like being hugged by a thermo blanket. The brunet plastered himself all over Newt’s back, making him the little spoon without hesitation and the blond wondered how come he gave in so easily. Their mutual agreement for the departure to the bed occurred a lot sooner than Newt expected – if he remembered correctly the clock showed only 9 in the evening. But he didn’t fight it, the emotional distress made him tired and ready to submit to the sleeping state.

Except no sleep came.

He listened to Thomas’ evened breathing for several hours already, cocooned carefully in the blanket and his embrace, but sleep just didn’t come.

The rest of the evening flowed in silence for both of them – Thomas refused to let Newt go before they went to sleep, and basically still held on even now like a kid starving for a touch. Newt was very well aware that he felt this way about him already, when Thomas' casual touches annoyed him before, but now it gave him a sense of safety and affection.

He expected Thomas to ask more about Alby, or about the conversation they had, but the writer remained quiet and let the TV noise wash over them while having Newt seated in front of him on the couch, hugging his belly. It felt strangely domestic but also tense at the same time, unsure and maybe a little disbelieving. Newt thought something was missing, some sort of conclusion or climax, but nothing came and they both stayed that way until now.

Newt took a deep breath, noting how Thomas’ arms raised and fell along with the movement of his chest, and tightened right after, pulling the blond closer to his body, burying his face to Newt’s hair. This closeness was new for the blond as well – sleeping with someone like this never held an appeal for him before. Either it fell too hot, too confining or just the sheer proximity got on his nerves with the constant need to be aware of your partner’s position. With Thomas it felt strangely safe, even though not something he was super comfortable with either. He was afraid to move too much to wake the man up, and Thomas held him too tightly so he actually couldn’t _move_ at all. Their legs were tangled together and Newt wondered if an attempt to get away and go for something to drink would wake the writer up. With how intertwined they were he had a bad feeling it would and it made him postpone it for another half an hour.

No sleep.

Thomas hummed from his slumber softly and one of his hands slid lower from Newt’s chest to his belly. Newt started to get restless and tentatively moved his legs, trying to disentangle a little. No reaction came, so he moved a bit more until he was able to slip away from the hold, breathing out in relief when he saw Thomas’ sleeping face and no wide-awake dissatisfaction.  He slinked off the bed quietly, smoothing the t-shirt over (Thomas’ t-shirt, he insisted for Newt to take it and not sleep in his long sleeved one, and Newt had to laugh at the sentiment, because really? Thomas caring about the state of his shirt? The guy who leaves his clothes rumpled all over the place? Right. Newt took it anyway and almost died from laughter when he read the lettering “ **AWESOME IN BED! I can sleep for hours.** ” on it). It was a little big for his frame, but he had a feeling Thomas secretly liked seeing it on him, like a label or something (which was terribly cheesy, but Newt stubbornly held on to the idea anyway).

He padded barefooted outside the bedroom as quietly as possible and before he closed the door behind him, he glanced back at Thomas for good measure. The writer was still asleep, snuggled in the covers, breathing deeply, and Newt couldn’t stop a smile curling his lips up at the sight. He was pretty sure his past self (even the only one week younger past self) would kick his butt right now for doing all those stupid gestures (including thinking of more inappropriate things which composed of sucking hickeys where everyone could see it, or dragging his blunt nails over Thomas’ back to make him shiver, or trailing small, teasing kisses down his chest, or… _god, stop thinking about this_ ). He quickly shook his head, clearing his thoughts of mind-wrecking fantasies and closed the door behind him with a soft click.

The flat was dark and quiet and Newt hovered at the door for a little longer, trying to adjust to the darkness and remember where he saw the light switch before they went to sleep. He saw the digital clock somewhere in the distance showed 00:22 on it and sighed.

There was a lamp next to the couch, he remembered vaguely, and decided it’s a good start. Thankful for Thomas’ cleaning fever before he came in today he didn’t trip over or step on anything, and arrived to the couch safe and sound, searching blindly for the switch at the tall lamp. A mellow light filled the room with a single click and Newt squinted for a while, adjusting to the sudden brightness. He immediately spotted his discarded clothing at the armrest, folded neatly next to Thomas’ crumpled pile, and snorted. He could absolutely see the nagging he is going to shower Thomas with later on, tripping over the clothes here and there, telling him to at least throw it to the bathroom for washing.

_Later on._

He stopped, contemplating. Did he just think about living with this guy? Just like that? God, the old Alby would be so proud for how low his rationality dropped.

His eyes fell on the lone stack of papers lying on the ground next to the couch, utterly abandoned. They must have kicked it off during today and Newt immediately remembered it’s the bit Thomas wanted to know his opinion on.

_I didn’t get to it in the end…_

He grabbed it curiously and skimmed through the pages quickly.

_Well, I can’t sleep anyway._

He sat down with a shrug, pulling the sheaf on his lap and nestling comfortably in the corner of the couch, right under the lamp. The blackness from the outside made him feel like he was back at home, going through his normal routine – the only missing thing was the cigarette. He dismissed the thought immediately though, no urge overcame him anyway.

**_For how long he stood in the midst of the forest he never noticed the richness of the air in the place. It carried all kind of fragrances – the sweetness of the newly blossomed flowers, ~~the sourness of~~ the freshness of pure water cascading over the pebbles in the stream. _ **

**_The ache of loneliness hit him stronger here, thinking back to the happiest moments with an undying need inside of him to return, to resume what he felt back then. It was a fear that gripped him tight and prevented him to chase the phantom wish. A possibility of a failure, a knowledge of how he wouldn’t be able to deal with it, it tore all his hopes down and left him here, alone, standing in the cold forest._ **

Newt blinked when the text ended suddenly and only few scribbled notes were added at the first page (“ _Colours, shapes_ ”) along with several more variations of the same paragraph, only with slight changes in the description. He skimmed through it fast, marking the first one as the best, and turned the page over. Another messy paragraph with a disastrous handwriting that was somewhat still readable, at least partly, seemed to be written in haste.

**_He never knew the skin could be heated this way. It felt fiery, scorching, burning. It seared into his body like an open fire and he couldn’t breathe, but he continued anyway, skimming his hands over the contours of the body under him, tasting the salt-_ **

What…..?” Newt froze, staring at the page in an utter disbelief. Was he just reading…

_A sex scene?_

He took a deep breath and quickly glanced back at the closed door of Thomas’ bedroom. No change. He gulped down and sat a little straighter. A sex scene, really? With Thomas talent for describing he was already excited and afraid at the same time. He knew the main character in the book had a lover (and basically pined after him/her half of the time – the most interesting thing was the reader didn’t know the lover’s gender. Thomas left it vague and never specified and Newt thought it was brilliant), but the book mostly mentioned only glimpses of memories about this person, never anything graphic or intimate. A sudden possibility to know and almost _see_ the interaction made Newt eager to read it, even though the hesitation still pulled at the corners of his mind.

**_-tasting the salt on his tongue where he dipped and explored. The ragged breath was music to his ears, delicious hitches and little quiet curses. He dragged his hand through the silkiness, comparing the textures and sensations, fleeting flavours and feelings that made him tremble with want and need. The taste of the kiss was addicting and he couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop, and kept on returning and exploring deeper and more aggressive. He felt hands on his sides, pulling him down, and hips chanting up, trapping him in between the thighs. The delicious pace made him delirious and excited and he couldn’t stop the movement of his own body, covering and rubbing at every part, touching, licking and biting where he could reach. The constant pressure of his excitement built up inside of him like lava in a volcano, ready to explode and take everything with it. His voice sounded alien to his own ears, moans filling the air, and he pushed further and deeper-_ **

“Bloody hell,” Newt whimpered and threw his head back with a groan. “There goes my sleep.”

**_-into a welcoming heat, drawing a loud scream of pleasure. He touched the trembling lips gently, swiping his thumb over it-_ **

Thomas did that. A tender gesture that made Newt perk up in anticipation. He still could feel the phantom touch now.

**_-meeting a curious tongue peeking out, losing the sanity at the contact-_ **

It had been intense, Newt had to admit. He lost it at the moment too, Thomas looked so into it Newt wanted to pounce him and kiss him senseless.

**_-being overwhelmed by the sheer bliss with another kiss, an intense reminder of their bond, sealing their souls under the moon-_ **

And then Thomas lost it as well and they were kissing and he had been so dominant it made Newt gasp and ignite a blaze inside of him, an urgency to get him closer, to feel him _more_ -

“Can’t sleep?” Newt dropped the paper as if burned him and his head snapped up towards Thomas standing in the doorway of the bedroom, looking exquisitely dishevelled and sleepy. Newt felt his body tremble and his throat tighten, unable to let out a single word, so he just stared, hot and bothered at Thomas who only scratched his belly, revealing a treasure trail once again, completely obvious.

“I woke up to a cold spot,” the writer teased and moved from the door towards the couch. Newt fought with an obscene thought of pushing him down and ravishing him, but the still present rational part of his mind thankfully stopped him. Thomas arrived to the couch a little while later, sitting heavily with a sigh next to the blond, touching his back soothingly.

“Wondered where you are and all,” he added softly and Newt lost it.

“You are such an asshat,” he uttered, turned around and pushed Thomas back, smoothly swung his leg over and sat on his lap. “Giving me that stuff to read and expect I will just nod and bloody smile.”

“Wha-,” Thomas wasn’t even able to finish the question when Newt latched himself on his neck, biting maybe a little too painfully at first, but then licking it soothingly, earning a guttural moan in return.

“God, _what_ did you read that made you like _this_?” Thomas breathed out under the assault, his hands immediately shot up to Newt’s back, rubbing it up and down. He seemed fully awake now and the only thing Newt could think of was _good_. He didn’t bother with an answer but focused on his first goal in this relationship – marking. Thomas whimpered from under him, his hips bucking up slightly and Newt bit again, a punishing scrape of teeth at which Thomas cried out, grabbed Newt’s face and kissed him wildly.

_That’s right. You bloody started it anyway._

The kiss was sloppy and uncoordinated, but hot as hell, and Newt kept on repeating _screw slow, get on with it_ in his head, it probably fought its way to his lips, because Thomas suddenly pulled away, chuckling and stilling the movement the blonde’s body commenced towards the writer.

“Newt,” he whispered softly, holding his face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs over his cheeks.

“If you are going to tell me to slow down, I will bite your head off,” Newt growled, yanking away from the hold and reaching for Thomas’ shirt. The writer caught his hands and stopped him once more.

“You really want this, don’t you?” he asked and Newt bristled, yanking harder and when he got free, he shoved Thomas against the backrest strongly.

“What are you playing at?” he hissed in annoyance. “Do I bloody look like someone who doesn’t want to get in your pants?”

“Nope,” Thomas shrugged. “I am just surprised, is all.”

“What?”

“I thought you just got… swayed by my insistence,” the writer replied a little more seriously now. “Maybe getting curious about this. Because I pulled.”

Newt blinked, his body losing its tension. A strange insecurity dripped from Thomas’ words and he couldn’t help but wonder what that man was even thinking most of the time.

“Well, you pulled because I pushed,” he mumbled, his hands sliding up Thomas’ shoulders, resting there. “So it’s fine.”

Thomas eyes searched his face for a sign of something; dishonesty maybe, but apparently found none, because he smiled again and caressed Newt’s cheek gently.

“Yeah?” he chimed, whispery and the tone made him too vulnerable that Newt wanted to hug him and tell him it’s all going to be fine.

“Yeah,” he settled on a simple nod. “But only ‘cuz you are cute.”

“Oh, you almost fooled me into thinking you like me or something,” Thomas rolled his eyes and it made Newt laugh a little.

“Nah, what gave you that impression?” he waved his hand and a sudden squeeze of his butt Thomas provided made him yelp in surprise.

“Dunno, might be this,” the writer grinned and Newt poked his chest accusingly.

“It’s your fault anyway. Letting me read that stuff and wanting _an opinion_ , jesus. What were you thinking?”

“What are you talking about?” Thomas blinked in confusion. “What stuff?”

“That draft you gave me this afternoon?” Newt nodded somewhere under the couch. “Full of bloody smut?”

Thomas face went through so many expressions in one second Newt probably didn’t even catch them all, but in the end settled on a bright red face of pure embarrassment.

“Don’t tell me you read it….”

“Duh? You gave it to me?” Newt flicked his forehead and Thomas groaned.

“I gave you the forest description, oh my god,” he hid his face in Newt’s shirt. “I wrote the other part when you left… you weren’t supposed to see that.”

“Ohohoho,” Newt cackled, running his fingers through Thomas’ messy hair and pulling slightly. “Aren’t you naughty.”

“I need that memory eraser from Men in Black now,” Thomas mumbled into Newt’s chest. “Can you forget about it?”

“No?” the blond grinned wickedly. “But I can do a lot of other things for you.”

“I am trying to hold back here, you huge tease,” sounded a muffled reply and Newt pulled at his hair again, strongly now to make Thomas look at him.

“And I am trying to break that endeavour,” he murmured lowly, enjoying how his voice made Thomas’ pupils go wide and deeply black. “Is it working?”

A ferocious kiss was enough of an answer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betad by the one and only Misssushicat!! Thank you so much! <3
> 
> Plot? What plot? :D  
> I am sorry, this chapter got out of control QQ I meant it to convey some better message, but Newt is up to no good all the time QQ
> 
> Feedbacks are loved! <3  
> Thank you all for reading and commenting, each and every piece from you makes me melt <3


	14. The Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How long are you dating?” she asked in a professional tone and Newt thought of consequences of pushing her down the table with so many eye witnesses around them. Maybe if he asked her to come with him to the meeting room?  
> “That’s none of your bus-“  
> “Since Saturday,” Alby replied instead, earning a murderous glare, but shrugging it off like if it meant nothing to him.

“Maybe he’s a virgin?”

Newt spat his coffee out and coughed, giving Alby a dirty look above the spilled liquid all over his table.

“What? It can be,” his colleague shrugged, sitting comfortably on the edge of his desk (Newt swore Teresa was a bad influence with this. At some point it was just her doing it, having nerves of steel and never feared his wrath, but now _everyone_ did it when stopping at his table. He even checked few times as inconspicuously as he could if some joker didn’t left a note somewhere around the vicinity urging them to sit and look smug. He found nothing). “The old fashioned guy who won’t do it before the marriage.”

“Well, aren’t you full of happy ideas,” Newt grumbled, drying the desk with tissues, thankful the keyboard saved itself.

“Still better than the other thought that occurred to me,” Alby pointed out with a nod and Newt sighed.

“If you’re thinking of him being frigid, then I can assure you he’s not,” he uttered sourly, watching the environment carefully so that everyone stayed far away enough and didn’t eavesdrop. Such talk with Teresa would probably make him kill himself.

“Oh?” Alby’s mouth widened in a big, shit eating grin and Newt re-thought his willingness to discuss it with this guy. It was like dealing a with fifteen year old that drew penises on everything and laughed at “Mr. Assman’s lecture” like a hyena.

“He is very much happy to see me, thank you very much,” he hissed in lower voice and Alby was probably holding himself back from cackling by his sheer will. “Don’t think that’s the bloody problem.”

“Well, something apparently is,” Alby shrugged again, adopting more serious look once more.

“Maybe he just really wants to know you a little more before fucking your brains out?” a sweet voice suggested from behind Newt and the blond groaned. Teresa patted him comfortingly on his shoulder and joined Alby at the table, sitting there like a pro. Newt cursed the fact she didn’t wear a super short skirt today because he could have kicked her out for sexual harassment at least.

“This is not a therapy session, Teresa,” he sent her a deadly look, but she only smiled more, picking at her nails.

“Quite the opposite,” she assured him lightly. “I think you need a woman’s touch with this problem.”

“It’s not a problem!” he barked at her and immediately lowered his voice into an angry whisper. “It’s not a problem, you minx, now off you go.”

“I’m pretty sure I heard you complaining he won’t sleep with you, loud and clear,” she opposed, swaying her long, black hair from her shoulder. “And judging by your tone I think you did consider it a problem.”

“Teresa,” he warned her with a frown, but it had zero result. She stayed put, watching him with an amused expression and he could think of thousands of ways to kill her where no one would find the body.

“Let’s call it _an inconvenience_ ,” Alby offered and Newt’s mind immediately popped up Alby’s body in a coffin next to hers.

“Can you two shut up?” he growled unhappily and those two idiots shared a “ _what’s his problem?_ ” look and smiled like on a command.

“For how long have you been dating?” she asked in a professional tone and Newt thought of the consequences of pushing her down the table with so many eye witnesses around them. Maybe if he asked her to come with him to the meeting room?

“That’s none of your bus-“

“Since Saturday,” Alby replied instead, earning a murderous glare, but shrugging it off like if it meant nothing to him.

“Wow, this Saturday? _Three whole days_? My god, how outrageous he won’t _do the do_!” she exclaimed mockingly. “I can’t possibly think of any valid reason for such slow progress!”

“Stop being a smartass,” he cut her off coldly. “Neither of us are _you_.”

“That’s probably the problem, don’t you think?” she winked, apparently relishing the fuming that came from Newt as a response. “A little bit of sense is missing from your sex crazed heads.”

“I am not just after sex, stop implying,” he grunted, but she only shook her head.

“How long did it take to get to this part in other relationships?” she asked simply and Newt only avoided her eyes, throwing the tissue from the coffee to the trash under his table. “Alby?”

“Usually the third date?” the man provided and Teresa sighed in defeat. “What? I think it’s natural when you’re attracted to someone?”

“I agree,” Newt chimed, finally on the right track. He couldn’t deny his own attraction for the writer – not that he tried to since Saturday. He liked his looks, and he definitely liked when they got physical. Thomas had a big, skilful hands that liked to touch and caress, and he never doubted such those hands would look perfect on-

“A third day and you are ready to trust the person enough to let them go intimate with you?” Teresa interrupted his thoughts (thankfully, it was probably for the first time he actually felt grateful for her sharp voice that dragged him from the stupid fantasy he couldn’t get rid for those past three days). “What’s wrong with you? You know shit about them!”

“I never said the third day, but date,” Alby protested, but Teresa didn’t change her posture at all.

“Wow, what a change, so you see them for the _third_ time in span of _several_ days, and can’t keep it in your pants anymore, bravo,” she hopped off the table, apparently done with both of them, but looking back at Newt in the last second. “Just imagine there are also people who _don’t trust easily_. Pretty face may be one of them, so sue him for being careful.”

With that she stomped off, her posture agitated and Newt pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

“ _Girls_ ,” he grumbled, tired and Alby chuckled.

“Gotta deal, man. She may have a point about your boy.”

Newt run a hand through his hair and groaned internally. A conversation like this really wasn’t a goal he wanted to accomplish by Monday, but he should have known better than to talk about it so openly at his table with Teresa being one big radar. But he got a little frustrated and who should have he talked to about this if not Alby?

During the make out on the couch on the verge of Saturday slowly spilling into Sunday Newt thought he made it. That Thomas gave in and there they were, making out, biting and kissing and licking every piece of naked skin, but nope. It didn’t really work. Newt thought it would, but Thomas was even more stubborn than a brick wall and held Newt down with every attempt to take it further than messy kisses (not that kissing was bad. Holy shit, kissing Thomas was _hot_ , but Newt wanted a little more, maybe move it just a little south, not to be kept above the waist all the time). He gave up in the end, calling Thomas by every possible insult he knew for being this damn pig headed, and then the writer threw him over his shoulder and carried him kicking and bristling back to the bedroom.

That’s why Newt got caught up again in the bed, grumbling under his breath with Thomas stretched happily behind him, holding him around his waist. The swearing made Newt so tired he actually postponed his urge to fight him about the position of “the big spoon” and fell asleep. He woke up grumpy and unsatisfied around 10 in the morning with Thomas still in the bed, pressing against him from head to toe and especially with the morning wood digging into his backside. He actually thought about initiating something, but since he basically got refused for few times already he stubbornly left him alone and dragged himself out of the bed to take a shower.

The rest of the Sunday left him grouchy and somewhat exhausted so he excused himself from Thomas’ flat and took a bus home (even that Thomas offered him lunch and a nice, lazy afternoon, and Newt was on a verge of shouting _fuck you, I can’t stand another touch without exploding right now_ and left with an excuse of work).

He smoked the whole pack of cigarettes at home, pacing around the flat or leaning over the railing on a balcony. He just couldn’t wrap his head around it.

Sex was always essential. He dated before, naturally, and he never got held back like this. A mutual attraction grew fast and advanced even faster – a kiss, a touch, sex. But Thomas refused to take it further, even that his kisses were searing and touches insisting, and he actually bucked his hips for the friction and everything Newt considered a good sign for getting to it. But no, the writer held on the chastity belt and kept Newt there too, only secretly writing porn when no one was looking and then acted embarrassed about having a fantasy.

_Fuck, maybe he really is a virgin?_

The thought Alby spouted occurred to Newt again and maybe it added up? But he seemed too skilled for it, even though they never got to second base.

“Wow, wish other people thought about world problems as hard as you are thinking about not getting laid,” Alby interrupted him with a laugh and Newt quickly got back to present, apparently staring at one point for too long, bending a pencil in his hand it almost cracked.

“Oh shut it,” he grumbled, tossing the pencil on the table and sat behind the desk. He clicked his e-mail and it came out empty again.

 _He probably didn’t feel like writing_. _Not that I blame him_.

“Uh oh,” his colleague suddenly piped and Newt snapped his head back to him with a silent question. “I think I am getting murdered by a power of will right now, let me disappear with my head intact.”

“What are you-,” Newt couldn’t even finish the thought when he noticed Thomas standing in the office, just a little further from the entrance and basically across the room from Newt’s table, and with Teresa next to him, talking happily.

_Oh crap._

The writer was looking Alby’s way with an evident discomfort, but then he noticed that Newt was watching him and his face softened with a smile. Newt absolutely refused the claim his stomach made an Olympic course with three somersaults at that and stayed put, only raising an eyebrow as a response. Thomas turned back to Teresa, telling her something that consisted of Newt’s direction and she nodded with a sly smile and left him to it ( _surprising_ , Newt noted to himself. He thought she would stick around to hear every juicy bit).

It took only few seconds for the writer to arrive to his table, greeting him with excitement. His cheeks were pink and Newt wondered how cold it was outside about now when he felt like freezing in the morning.

Thomas kept his distance, stopping in front of the desk like a proper client and Newt couldn’t help but wonder what brought him here in the first place.

“Brought you this,” Thomas handed him a new manuscript with a smile. “Thought I would stop by, rather than just send a mail with it.”

“No home-made meal? You’re a bad wife,” Newt responded with a snort, taking the manuscript gingerly.

“We can go for lunch?” Thomas offered, swinging on his feet like a child. “It’s about time anyway.”

Newt quickly checked the time and had to admit he was right. It showed half past twelve and he started to feel a creeping hunger pulling at his consciousness. He had thought about going for lunch with Alby, but since Thomas arrived it sort of crumbled (he almost snorted at the implication of taking Alby with them, Thomas would probably send him flying).

“Sounds good,” he nodded, trying to stomp on the excitement that suddenly boiled in him. There was no reason to get happy about it; if he was going to get a kiss in the end he could call it a win.

He stood up, taking up his coat and suddenly Thomas was next to him, startling him to the halt.

“I thought maybe you can come to my place after work?” the writer asked, reaching for Newt’s collar and smoothing it over. “Spend the night?”

“I slept there on Saturday,” Newt responded in a whisper, fighting with an urge to smack Thomas over hands to stop acting so domestic.

“And I already miss you in my bed,” Thomas’ voice got lower into a thundering rumble and Newt felt his breath hitch and stomach tighten at that. That tone washed over him like a heat wave and he considered stomping on Thomas’ feet as revenge.

“Stop spouting it here,” he growled, batting his hands away. “Even mugs have ears in this place.”

“Well, technically they do…”

“Smartass,” Newt shoved lightly to his shoulder, and turned around, reaching for his keys. He immediately spotted a scarf lying at the table next to the monitor and his irrational mind couldn’t think of anything else than to grab it and pull it over his neck as if it was completely normal. Thomas eyes widened at the display and then his face broke into a wide, pleased smile.

“You kept it.”

“It’s cold outside, stop smiling like a dork,” the blond retorted firmly, pushing past him in a swift movement. He wished he missed the adoring expression Thomas had because it made him feel like a jerk. This guy was apparently head over heels for him already and all Newt could think about was sex. Talk about priorities.

“It suits you,” the brunet called after him, quickly catching up. “I wasn’t sure if you kept it.”

“It’s yours, of course I kept it,” Newt muttered, ignoring Teresa’s meaningful look when he was passing her.

“And here I thought I can’t love you more,” he heard Thomas saying and it made his chest hurt. Such cheesy, cliché line, the most stupidly romantic thing to spout, something he thought of so last century and yet here he was, biting his lip, with hotness creeping to his face. He felt like he needed to break the atmosphere, to escape the sudden sweetness, but nothing witty came to him, so he settled on a lame comeback as if Thomas just burdened him with a challenge.

“We’ll see about that, Tommy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the wonderful beta again, misssushicat! <3
> 
> Aaaah, I was worried i won't be able to pull this chapter up by today QQ I was like a zombie and crashed during the day for two hours and when I woke up, it was already 6PM and not a single sentence written QQ Thankfully this chapter was flowing by itself, although I am sorry for being it a little uneventful. I think an insight to Newt's point of view was needed though, although I hope he doesn't seem to be too horny (lololol).
> 
> Thank you very much for reading and commenting! Feedbacks are loved and hugged and appreciated to the end of time! <3


	15. A Photo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wait, you mean sex before marriage? What kind of girl do you think I am?” a sudden playfulness in Thomas voice made Newt snort again, and maybe also let him breathe a little easier.  
> “I live by “try before you buy”, so there you go,” he answered him with an easy smile and it felt right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of M at the beginning (sorry! QQ)

The air was cold and wind unmerciful. It made Newt grateful for the scarf protecting his neck thoroughly, and for Thomas partly shielding him with his body pressed against his side when they walked through the busy street. The writer was holding him close with arm slung over his shoulder and Newt couldn’t help but think about how people had to see them. A couple? Friends helping each other? A bizarre pair?

He unconsciously leaned closer towards the brunet when the wind blew stronger and felt how Thomas kissed the top of his head comfortingly. It was such a tender gesture Newt’s body relaxed immediately, melting into the larger frame of his companion and he thoughtlessly tipped his head up, earning a light, chaste kiss on the lips in return. He sighed a little and buried his face to the sleeve of Thomas’ jacket.

 _Sappy as hell_.

This seriously wasn’t his style, and yet it came natural. He let Thomas lead the way, holding onto him tightly, finding a calming rhythm in their steps. So maybe Teresa was right for once. Maybe Thomas just needed time, wanted to be sure, no rush. His previous experiences could have been bad.

_Or he is just not that big on sex._

A thought of Newt being his first _male_ lover suddenly struck him and he almost missed a step and their rhythm got a little off with Newt stumbling slightly. Thomas squeezed him tighter, a protective gesture that made the blond hum thankfully, slinking his arm around Thomas’ waist and holding on.

It took him by surprise when Thomas suddenly took a sharp turn with both of them, falling into a narrow street, out of the busy flow of the main road, and pressed Newt against the wall forcefully. He stared back at Thomas in confusion when an unexpected kiss cut his thoughts in half.

Thomas was on board of aggressive, holding Newt down without a single possibility to get away from his grip, basically ravaging his mouth without mercy. Newt didn’t really have time to adjust; he just let him, moaning into a kiss with a heat flooding his body like a disease, letting Thomas dominate the experience completely. The writer was kissing him deep with focused determination, biting at his lips occasionally. One of his hands slowly slid at the back of Newt’s neck while the other held him close by his waist, driving the blond crazy.

“I can’t get enough of you,” Thomas rumbled, pulling away just for a fraction and breathed heavily, eyes black and hungry. His thumb slowly traced Newt’s lower lip, now red from the assault, and the blond only nodded frantically, grabbing Thomas by his shoulders and pulling him back for another French lesson. Thomas went willingly, devouring any sound Newt made deep in his throat and pressed even more, trapping the blond in between his burning body and an unforgiving wall.

Newt wasn’t really sure what happened or what exactly triggered this, but definitely didn’t plan on complaining. Thomas was pleasantly warm and excitingly wild and demanding it pumped his blood like crazy, and he found himself dragging his hands down Thomas’ chest towards his hips, pulling him forward, searching for a friction. Thomas groaned into his mouth, hauling himself away from Newt, panting raggedly.

“Fuck,” he growled with closed eyes, apparently trying to regain some composure ( _No, don’t do that, stop distancing, this sucks!_ ), and Newt held back the impatient sound that was fighting its way up his throat. The writer opened his eyes again, and they were even blacker than before. Newt almost got lost in them.

“Come today, please. To my place. Please?” Thomas whispered pleadingly, leaning back and dragging his lips over Newt’s jaw, mouthing hotly. It almost short-circuited Newt’s brain, and it definitely shot straight to his groin - he held back only by an ounce of some invisible power from bucking up.

“Yeah, alright,” he gasped back, catching Thomas mouth again with his, noting the obscene noises he made. Thomas overpowered him in a second, kissing like there was no tomorrow, and everything Teresa said disappeared like a poked bubble. Newt found himself pulling at Thomas clothes blindly until a loud growl froze his body like liquid nitrogen.

“Uhh….”

Another growl and he felt Thomas shook with laughter above him, stifling it against Newt shoulder.

“That would be your stomach,” the writer snickered and Newt groaned loudly.

 _Of fucking course_.

***

“How about you stop laughing like an idiot?” Newt grumbled from behind his food and Thomas sent him a flashy smile before breaking back into a giggling fit. The loud, hungry growling accompanied them all the way to the restaurant and finally quieted down when Newt practically devoured a chicken soup before he got to the second meal. It made Thomas laugh nonstop, even patting his belly like an affectionate soon-to-be-dad, which probably weirded the waiter out, because her eyebrows almost left her face when she was taking the orders.

Newt was a little grateful for that though, because walking to the restaurant with tenting pants would be a lot worse than having Thomas touching him affectionately in front of waiter as if he wanted to make a point (who knows what point, but point nevertheless).

“Are you off work at 3 again?” a question broke him back to reality and he was glad seeing Thomas a little more serious for a change. He munched on tacos and his natural messiness scored once more, since he already had the dressing on his face instead in his mouth. Newt sighed and leaned closer, wiping the offensive food off the corner of Thomas’ mouth, licking it without a second thought.

“Did anyone tell you to eat a little more cultivated?” he asked the writer dubiously, completely dismissing Thomas’ wide eyes focused on Newt’s lips. “Going to eat somewhere in public with you is like feeding a monkey.”

“Harsh,” Thomas chuckled, wiping his mouth with a napkin, his cheeks suspiciously pink. “As far as someone _tells_ me about the food on my face, it’s all good.”

“Will _tell_ you next time,” Newt assured him with a smirk, biting a fry and earning a glare in return. “And no, I will stay a bit longer today – we have a meeting at 4.”

“An important one?” Thomas inquired and there was a weird urgency in his voice.

“A monthly one, basically. I’m pretty sure you are going to be a hot topic in there,” Newt shrugged, not reading much into it. Thomas had strange quirks at times so there was no point dwelling on this one. “Thought about telling the Chief you would be a great porn writer if the sci-fi won’t work.”

“Oh god,” Thomas hid his face behind the menu with a groan and Newt snorted.

“What? I think it was pretty nicely written. Not too offensive or graphic, but you still knew what’s going on,” he shrugged, pulling the menu lower to look at Thomas’ embarrassed face. “Why are you blushing like a school girl? Never did it with anyone?”

He made it sound like a matter of speech, fun, but awaited the reaction carefully. Asking bluntly if Thomas was a virgin seemed a bit too harsh even for him.

“What? No,” Thomas rolled his eyes and Newt considered the myth busted.

_One thing off, two to go._

“So how long is the meeting?” the writer returned to the previous conversation swiftly and Newt made a face. How he knew the Chief, it could last for an hour or two if he were in a bad mood.

“I think till five, or six,” he shrugged, taking a sip of the soda. “Depends a lot on the old man’s mood.”

“ _So long_ ,” Thomas whined. “Can’t you disappear at three as always? Saying you are busy or something.”

“And what would I be busy with it needs me to risk my job?” the blond leered and Thomas visibly fidgeted.

“Just hoped we could spend some quality time together,” he whispered, almost impossible to hear if Newt wasn’t so perked up for it.

“And what does your _quality time_ entails?” he pried further, making Thomas visibly frustrated. When no answer came, only a series of hmms and umms, Newt raised his eyebrows.

“Sex?” he suggested, suddenly feeling bold and maybe a little impatient as well. The alley encounter was still thrumming in his veins, Thomas’ breathless plea to come with him to his flat, insisting touches and deep kisses. He knew it didn’t need to mean anything. Thomas was the king of making out without an apparent need to finish the job, but Newt had had enough. He wanted to heed Teresa’s advice, he really did, but Thomas took the initiative and his dominance he always showed when things got heated up made Newt get back on the old track, wanting _more_.

Thomas blinked in surprise, caught up by Newt’s bluntness, and stared. Newt only calmly resumed eating, even though he felt the tenseness playing strongly at his nerves.

“Wait, you mean sex before marriage? What kind of girl do you think I am?” a sudden playfulness in Thomas voice made Newt snort again, and maybe also let him breathe a little easier.

“I live by “ _try before you buy”,_ so there you go,” he answered him with an easy smile and it felt _right_.

***

Newt felt his phone vibrating in his back pocket insistently for sixth time and Teresa gave him a weird look when he wriggled in his chair uncomfortably. He refused to look at it again because when he did 3 times before it was all from Thomas with: “ **Is it over yet?** ” “ **How about now?** ” “ **OMG, still not done?** ” And he was afraid the next in chain added on spice and maybe got a bit vulgar as well.

The clock moved too fast and the meeting dragged on too slowly. The Chief had so much information to share Newt already lost the count and the interest, so he only sat there, trying to look neutral and ignore his phone completely.

“Your boyfriend is impatient?” Teresa leaned closer to his ear with a smirk and he sent her a deadly glare. She still pissed him off in the morning he refused to acknowledge she had a point, and rather played the stubborn one.

His phone vibrated again, this time a lot longer and Newt groaned internally. He had to be calling him, for god’s sake. He carefully reached for the device, staring at the display with a frown. One missed call from Thomas. 5 texts from him. And one MMS from Teresa.

He blinked few times, not really getting her motive, and contemplated if opening it was a good idea. With her sense of humour it could easily be something super nasty, like Gally’s naked butt or the Chief’s typical sitting position in a close up (and he would rather see Gally’s butt at that point).

He shot her a questioning look and she only winked at him, nodding significantly at the phone. Yeah, he definitely didn’t like it. But he felt bold and reckless at the same time, so he clicked it and waited for the worst.

What popped up wasn’t bad at all. It actually contained a photo of Thomas, smiling at the camera adorably and it took Newt a moment to realize the picture was from today – his grey shirt definitely fit and the background suspiciously reminded him of the office room. He glanced back at his black haired colleague and she smiled proudly back at him, signalling him to scroll down. He did what he was told and discovered a short text under: “ **For your phone’s background needs. God, he is adorable, I want to eat him up! You lucky bastard ;)** ”. He snorted loudly and immediately regretted it, because the Chief’s voice stopped and he knew he was in trouble. Teresa only smiled sweetly at him and had the nerve to look reprimanding when the Chief started berating Newt like a first grade teacher his pupil.

***

“My god, he held you there for two and half hour!” Thomas greeted him unhappily, sitting in front of the building on a railing, looking visibly cold. Newt frowned at that, noting shivers that ran through the writer’s body and dragged him down the rail.

“Are you stupid? You should have come inside!” he immediately scolded him, rubbing Thomas’ arms quickly to make him warmer.

“I didn’t expect it was going to take so long,” Thomas grumbled unhappily and Newt rather stayed quiet – the plus half an hour was his doing anyway. Well, Teresa’s doing actually, she sent him the photo. So it was Thomas’ fault in the end, because it was his picture and he let her take it too easily!

A tight hug brought him back to reality when Thomas embraced him firmly, kissing his temple.

“You ready to go?” he whispered to his ear gently and Newt, despite the cold that ruled the air, felt a warmness spreading through his body.

“Yeah,” he mumbled back and Thomas took his hand boldly. His fingers were cold as ice and it probably was the cause why Newt decided to let it slide for today instead of yanking his hand back. It made Thomas unreasonably happy and Newt sighed, defeated.

_There we go. I am officially easy AND sappy._

“I bought pizza,” Thomas informed him with a smile on his face. His cheeks were red from the cold and Newt smirked.

“That’s bloody romantic meal, hope you have candles too.”

“I do, but they are only for emergencies when there is no electricity, thank you very much,” the writer shot back immediately, pulling Newt a little closer.

“Am I not even worth a candle? This has no future, we must part ways,” Newt mockingly pulled away, but Thomas chased him quickly, pressing a wet, obnoxiously loud kiss on his lips and laughed like an idiot at it.

“You love me anyway, candles or not,” he nudged him with his shoulder and Newt made an exasperated face.

“God help me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betad by the brilliant misssushicat! <3 Thank you so much, hun! <3
> 
> Sorry for teh useless smut at the beginning, sorta happened QQ Hope you liked the chapter anyway <3 It was fun to write this one for some reason, their interaction is getting livelier and a little more sappy and it's an immense fun to see Newt squirming cuz it's against everything he was used to, mwuhahaha.
> 
> ALSO! A reference photo for this chapter: http://lokidiabolus.tumblr.com/post/100687333240/photo-reference For Thomas' picture taken by Teresa :) I just thought it's a nice thing to see :D 
> 
> Feedbacks are, as always, loved to death <3  
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting! You are giving me strenght <3


	16. A Tickle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I just want to be sure,” the writer mumbled.  
> “Alright,” Newt said simply. “And I just want you to know I am ready whenever.”  
> This was probably the wrong thing to say, because Thomas’ face distorted a little.  
> “It should be special,” he opposed quietly.  
> “Of course,” Newt added.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> M-ish rating!

Newt didn’t really know what exactly he expected from Thomas after arriving to his place, but couldn’t say he was surprised that they ended up on the couch, watching some sort of movie Newt forgot the name of (something about a talking teddy? What?). He was comfortably nestled on top of Thomas, his head resting on the writer’s chest and if he really were a cat, he would probably be purring. Thomas kept on running his fingers through Newt’s hair, up and down, curling and pulling slightly, wrapping the lose strands around his fingers and releasing it again, scraping nails gently along his scalp. From all this attention Newt completely forgot he meant to demand a continuation of the alley experience and just laid there, humming contently, listening to the beating of Thomas’ heart.

“You gonna spend the night, yeah?” a rumble echoed under Newt’s head and the blond nuzzled into Thomas’ shirt a little more.

“Mmm,” he let out as a response, noting how Thomas’ hand dropped from his hair to his neck and then traced his shoulder blades. “But I don’t have any clean clothes with me.”

“You can borrow mine,” the writer offered softly, now trailing along Newt’s spine.

“Your clothes are too big,” Newt opposed with a smirk, rising up on his elbows to see Thomas’ face. The fond expression left him speechless for a second, a screaming adoration Newt literally never saw before on anyone, let alone to be aimed at him, and it _hurt_ a little.

“I’m sure I can find something fitting for you,” the brunet smiled, leaning up a bit to peck Newt on his mouth. The touch was chaste and fleeting, but Newt licked his lips anyway and bended for another one, surer and more real. Thomas hummed agreeably in his throat and sank his fingers into Newt’s hair once more, angling his head how he wanted it, deepening the kiss.

 _This is nice_ , Newt thought to himself. Pleasant and intimate, just sharing a moment, exploring what the other liked. He almost missed when Thomas moved his other hand back on Newt’s waist until he suddenly felt his shirt riding up and Thomas touching his bare skin, skimming along the spine.

Newt made a curious noise when the writer dragged his nails over the sensitive place on the lower back and broke the kiss breathlessly, gulping down the air like a drowning man. Thomas was grinning back at him, his chest heaving and his other hand joined the first one, mapping Newt’s upper body gently. Newt felt his arms getting weak from the touches and supporting became fairly difficult. He decided in a matter of seconds to pull up into a sitting position between Thomas’ legs, making Thomas follow him immediately, not even breaking the contact on his back. The writer was dragging his hands higher and higher until he almost reached Newt’s neck, where he pulled at the hem of the offensive clothing and removed it completely. Newt let him discard the shirt without a word, only raising his arms to help him, dropping them back around Thomas’ shoulders when freed and pushing himself closer.

His mind was reeling wildly, wondering and silently asking million questions, but his mouth occupied itself with kissing, letting Thomas patiently push him backwards until he was suddenly trapped under him, gasping into his mouth when he felt fingers skimming along his sides.

“Are you ticklish?” Thomas chuckled when he pulled away a little, looking down between them at Newt’s bare torso, and the blond squirmed a little when another teasing stroke connected.

“Yes, stop it,” he grumbled, attempting to catch Thomas offensive hand, but came out unsuccessful. The brunet caught both of his wrists swiftly, pulling them above Newt’s head and smiled predatorily down at him with his free hand teasingly trailing the naked skin, stopping at the sides with a devilish gleam in his eyes.

“Thomas, I warn you, if you-- _stop_!” he squealed under the onslaught of insisting tickles like a schoolgirl and tossed around just to escape the assault. Thomas howled with laughter above him, almost crying and Newt thought a one well-placed kick to his sternum would definitely put an end to this. He couldn’t stop the involuntary giggles escaping his mouth at each swipe, degrading him into a shrieking mess, until finally, _finally_ the torture stopped and he could catch his breath once more, glaring at his companion murderously.

“I can’t!” Thomas cried out, cackling loudly. “Too _cute_!”

“One more word and I will kick you off the couch,” Newt growled, even though his mouth kept on trying to smile, but he stayed stubbornly mad. Thomas didn’t really stop, but at least he tried to stifle his laugh a little, leaning back over the blond, nuzzling his neck and kissing his temple in apology.

“Sorry, you are just too adorable,” he chuckled happily, trailing kisses down Newt’s neck. “You should laugh more; it looks so good on you.”

“Stop patronizing me, you torturer,” Newt barked in reply, earning a nibble on his collarbone, hissing at it. “Such a dirty move, I can’t believe it.”

“Couldn’t resist,” another kiss landed on Newt’s shoulder. “Too tempting.”

“Hundred minus points for you!” Newt shot back and Thomas barked a laugh, getting back to Newt’s lips once more, dragging his own over them teasingly.

“I’m sure we can find a compromise,” he whispered with a smirk, “and lower it to fifty.”

“Eighty,” Newt countered, dragging his finally free hands through Thomas messy hair, pulling punishingly.

“Sixty five,” came a reply and Newt chuckled, giving in. His lighter note made Thomas smile brightly, stealing one more sweet kiss before resting comfortably on top of the blond, slowly caressing his arms.

“How are you even real?” he mumbled so quietly Newt almost didn’t catch it.

“Maybe I’m not,” the blond shrugged at the bizarre note. “Maybe I am just part of your imagination. And you are making out with your couch.”

“My couch is super cheeky then,” Thomas chuckled, but stayed put, his caressing slowing even more. “Do you realize how much I adore you?”

“And do _you_ realize we still haven’t even properly reached second base?” Newt opposed, trying to avoid the mushy-feely topics stubbornly. “But I give you a plus point for getting me out of the shirt at least.”

He sucked at expressing feelings with words – actions were fine, but his tongue tangled at _loveyous_ and _darlings_ and _honeybuns_. Calling him pet names drove him mad, as well as being called out bullshit for the inability to say _I love you_ every day.

He knew Thomas had this streak in him; he already witnessed how cheesy he could be. And he was fine with some, it sort of clicked with the whole aura Thomas radiated, but he _hated_ when he got pressured into displaying _love_ and _affection_ when he didn’t want to. No one jinxed him with _I love you_ before, and no one will surely do it in the future.

“Is your train leaving or why are you in such a hurry?” Thomas finally raised his head from the crook of Newt’s neck, watching him questioningly.

“Because you are lying in between my legs and seriously feeling me up all the time?” Newt didn’t add _duh_ because he was pretty sure it came with the package, but Thomas stared at him with a blank expression. Newt recoiled a little, the impatient side of him pushed back. “I know. Slow. We are taking it slow.”

“Why is it such a problem?” this question Newt heard too many times was also followed by the heat loss when Thomas pulled away, sitting back on his heels in front of Newt, who pushed himself up as well, trying to cover the disappointment.

“It’s not a problem,” he sighed, feeling a bit of a déjà vú.

“You keep on mentioning it, it has to be,” the writer pointed out with a slight frown and Newt wondered if there would be at least one day with them not arguing. It hit him with an unpleasant _no_.

„No, it’s… okay, maybe it is kind of a problem,” Newt ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. Lying had never been his strong side. “But it doesn’t mean I can’t deal, alright?”

“So-,”

“No so,” Newt quickly put a hand on Thomas mouth, earning a confused look. “Listen. It’s _not_ anything you should be concerned with like this. _I_ may be expecting more, but you are waiting, and it’s _fine_. Don’t make an affair out of it, it’s _nothing_ serious. I can _deal_.”

“I don’t want you to _deal_ ,” Thomas yanked his hand away from his mouth, but not letting go. “Tell me why the rush?”

“Seriously?” Newt pulled a little, but Thomas held his hand firmly and didn’t budge. When he didn’t answer, Newt sighed.

“It’s natural,” he exclaimed after a while. “It’s normal to want the person you are attracted to on… a sexual level, right?”

“Not saying the opposite,” Thomas replied, but his tone sounded a little flat. “But if I have to sleep with every person I feel attracted to the first moment I laid my eyes on them-,”

“Oh hey, stop twisting it. I didn’t mean it like that,” Newt stopped him irritably. “I meant people who are _together_ -,“ he couldn’t bring himself to say _lovers_ , “-a couple. It’s normal.”

Thomas squeezed his hand a little more, a momentary spasm as if he agreed, or maybe quite the opposite.

“I just want to be _sure_ ,” the writer mumbled.

“Alright,” Newt said simply. “And I just want you to know I am ready whenever.”

This was probably the wrong thing to say, because Thomas’ face distorted a little.

“It should be special,” he opposed quietly.

“Of course,” Newt added. Even though he thought sex was sex, and the only special thing about it was the experience that could make it enjoyable or a disaster, he didn’t want Thomas to get stressed about it. He didn’t really understand the big idea about waiting, but he was starting to get used to it. Thomas seemed like a romantic type. Like an old fashioned gentleman in a young man’s body. It was actually endearing – being treated like something precious that needed time to adjust.

“I am waiting for you to be as mad about me, as I am about you,” Thomas offered after a moment of silence and Newt blinked few times. The brunet was looking right back at him, his expression serious and maybe even a little closed off. Newt felt shivers traveling along his spine from the look, a strange, dark and hungry gleam in his eyes dwelling there, lingering as if it just waited for the right moment to be released.

Newt opened his mouth to say something assuring, maybe even point out the fact he was on the edge in the alley already, and that was only a simple kiss back there (which should be considered _mad about you already_ stage in his book), but Thomas was faster.

“You are not that far yet,” he said as a continuation, taking the chance to speak from Newt. “But I’m patient.”

“Yeah?” Newt gulped, not admitting it stirred something in him he couldn’t point a finger at.

“Yeah. I want you to know me better. And I want to know about you in return,” the writer nodded, looking determined. “I really, _really_ want you to be _mine_.”

“Possessive, aren’t you,” Newt forced a smirk on his lips, even though he didn’t feel like it. He was _excited_. He never felt this strongly about anyone before. A sudden curiosity and need ignited in him like a beacon and it nearly burned him to ashes when Thomas chuckled darkly.

“I sport a few kinks, I admit.”

“That makes two of us,” Newt shot back, blindly reaching for his shirt he saw thrown there. When his hand swished only through an empty air, he quickly glanced down, spotting the garment further than he expected. Before he could reach out a hand on his wrist suddenly stopped him, pulling him back up until he was face to face with Thomas. The brunet was looking at him with his mouth curled up in a ( _dangerous,_ Newt’s mind helpfully added) smile, which made his heart beat faster he swore the writer had to hear it.

“Are we good?” Thomas asked in a low, rumbly voice and Newt gulped loudly.

“Yeah,” he nodded, maybe too quickly. “Very good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betad by misssushicat! <3 Thank you so much! x3
> 
> Aaaaaaaaah... I hope this chapter doesn't suck, and hopefully it conveyed some stuff I wanted to QQ I like the idea Newt is ticklish, haha. He is not a very smiley type here, so the laughter was probably like a miracle :D
> 
> Thank you for reading! Feedbacks are loved! <3 (seriously, I am super insecure about this chapter QQ)


	17. A Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “God Newt, slow down a bit,” she took a deep breath, looking at him with exasperation. “Do you hear yourself? Doing this because some small overlooked things?”  
> “Those things are important in the long run,” he shot back. “I just can’t see them anymore.”  
> “It’s not even that bad,” she insisted. “Just a little re-arranging for the flow. You don’t need to give him up because of this!”  
> “As a client,” he reminded her. “Don’t make it sound so dramatic.”  
> “He’s not going to be happy,” she noted with a frown and he hmphed.

_The anger was slowly seeping into his blood like a poison. He couldn’t believe they had the nerve for such a request – to him! To a person who saved their lives, who risked his own! And still, there they were, asking him about a sacrifice. Will it never end? He already gave them his time; did he really need to sacrifice his life as well?_

“No no no no,” Newt closed the mail immediately, frowning at the screen. “Bullshit.”

He drummed his fingers against the table, watching Thomas’ new chapter accusingly, reaching for a cup with already cold tea, taking a sip and then went back to staring.

Did Thomas just hint he is going to kill the main character? Just no.

He grumbled, dissatisfied, and opened the e-mail once more; skipping quickly the whole thing to the note Thomas left him (as he always did).

> **Lunch today? :-)**

Newt sighed. He felt pleasantly rested and the idea of spending more time with the writer made him excited, but they were together so much already he was afraid it would smudge the novelty too fast (he had to admit the anticipation of getting to know how the person ticked was the best part of a relationship). He hesitated with the reply, his hands hovering above the keyboard, twitching slightly, when suddenly a pair of hands landed on his shoulders, grabbing the fabric curiously. He almost jumped out of skin before he recognized the perfectly manicured hands of Teresa, who was getting a bit too handsy with his shirt.

Well, Thomas’ shirt.

“Nice shirt, grumpy,” she noted, pulling a little at the sleeve. “A bit big for you maybe?”

He knew lying to her had a zero point, so he didn’t even try to deny it. Finding the best shirt proved to be hilariously an amusing experience this morning. Newt woke up with his own phone’s alarm and a feeling of Thomas stirring behind him as well, playing his personal octopus again. It was fairly early (he always got up at 6:00), so he wasn’t very surprised when the writer squinted in confusion about the ruckus at such terrible hour and sat up with an amazing bed hair and the most adorable expression of a super sleepy person. He even whined for Newt to come back to the bed, pulling at him and dragging him down, but Newt didn’t relent and escaped anyway. When he returned from the bathroom, Thomas was already up (as much as a sleepy hedgehog could be), leaning over the kitchen table, watching the water boil in the kettle. Two mugs were standing on the counter and Newt found it strangely cute (he also got an amusing white mug with a “ **I’m not short, I’m just concentrated AWESOME** ” while Thomas had one that exactly matched his state – a simple white mug with “ **Shhh** ”, “ **Almost** ” and “ **Now you can speak** ” lines on it). Because Newt felt sprightly (probably because he actually slept really well without a single stir during the night, not even minding how Thomas made him the little spoon again, drooling on his neck) he leaned over Thomas’ frame affectionately, kissing his temple, earning a _purr_ in return and an arm sneaking around his waist, pulling him close. Thomas even whispered “hey, babe” to him and Newt told him to shut up with a snort and a well-aimed jab to his ribs.

The shirt-hunting itself came a lot later, after Thomas was actually able to perceive what was around him without stumbling and hitting the door frame. He went through his entire clothes’ repertoire (even the rumpled ones all over the place at which Newt made a disagreeing noise, warning him not to pick it up and actually offering it).

A purple button up came as a winner with Thomas pulling it over Newt’s head like a caring parent, ruffling his hair after. It was a little big, half a size maybe, but Newt liked it and Thomas apparently too, since he couldn’t keep his hands off him.

“I like having a reserve,” Newt answered to Teresa’s note, batting her hands away from the shirt. She grinned, leaving “his” clothes alone and circling the table with a smug expression while reaching out to him. Before he could react, she took his phone and tapped few times. After a little while she returned the device back, opened the newspaper she held under her arm and winked at him. Newt didn’t need to guess what was on the list next.

“Aries,” she didn’t disappoint, pulling the newspaper up. “Your sweetheart may seem upset today and unlikely to want to talk about it, Aries. This could prove frustrating for you, since you don't like to be kept in the dark. Take care to avoid giving in to the temptation to push. This won't make your partner any more likely to share, and it could drive a wedge between you. Just hang in there and let your friend talk when the time is right. Hmmm, interesting.”

“Bullshit,” he commented. “Why do you keep reading it?”

“Did it come true at any point?” she asked with a shrug and Newt only shook his head. He barely remembered what he had for lunch yesterday (chicken and fries), not to mention a horoscope he never heeded.

“I just like to see you frustrated by it,” she smirked, putting the newspaper on his table and reaching for the manuscript that laid next to her thigh where she sat down. “Oooh. He really does write nicely, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Newt mumbled. Thomas’ writing was his source of wonder all this time, he loved every bit. Although today’s chapter left him a little on edge and he’d read just one paragraph out of it.

“You want help to look it over?” she asked in a surprisingly honest voice, glancing back at him from the text.

“That one is already edited,” he shrugged, scrolling back to the rest of the e-mail he so stubbornly skipped, ignoring Thomas’ question about lunch for now.

“Is it?” she raised her eyebrows, looking back down. “But… this part doesn’t really seem to be. There are some nuances… look.”

Newt blinked in surprise, taking the manuscript back and focused on the part her finger pointed at, discovering that, in fact, she was right. He left several mistakes in his wake, small things he apparently started to overlook automatically, and his blood went cold.

“Bloody hell,” he breathed out, browsing the rest of the text anxiously, finding those minor unchanged nuances Thomas did unconsciously all over the piece. “How the… why did I… crap.”

“I can go through it if you want,” Teresa offered carefully. “You’re working on it a lot; you might have been just tired.”

“No, it’s…” Newt pinched the bridge of his nose and suppressed a groan. This was exactly what he was afraid of. Overlooking things, getting too familiar and used to it, not paying enough attention because he _knew_ how Thomas writes, how he thinks, what words he would be more likely to use in what situations. He got _sloppy._

He dived quickly into the drawer, pulling out the previous manuscript from the weekend and quickly went through it – it was fine. No mistakes, everything neatly edited and carefully styled. But once their relationship started it apparently made his mind foggy and unable to concentrate on the given task. His biggest fear – and also the reason why he never got close to his clients – just came true.

“Teresa,” he looked up at the black haired girl and she nodded, offering an assuring smile. “Do you have any client at the moment?”

“I’ve just finished with the previous one,” she replied calmly. “Do you want help?”

“You think you can take Thomas on?” he asked firmly, opening an empty draft in his e-mail. “He is really brilliant, nothing complicated. Would you be willing to do that?”

“Wait, what?” she backtracked, her eyes wide. “What do you mean, take him on?”

“As a client, edit his work,” he answered without delay. “If it came to that, would you?”

She stared at him in shock as if he just told her he murdered someone and needed her help for the body disposal.

“But… why? I mean, I can help,” she reassured him in confusion. “You don’t need to give him up!”

He shook his head, typing quickly.

“You don’t get it. I don’t see it in the text anymore,” he chose to be honest.

He knew himself, it happened before. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t get back to it, and the mistakes stayed. Because he had been too proud and stubborn (and also captivated and maybe a little in love), he told himself it was just a phase, and those minor things weren’t important. But when the book came for the final cut, the Chief called him in and gave him a long lecture about the stylistic basics. The publishing got delayed a lot because they had to re-check the whole book and Newt thought it couldn’t get any worse. But then the author got fed up with the delay (and with him) and Newt had to admit he had been defeated by his own ego (as well as held captive by depression and the inability to find the joy in his work). The rules had been born a little after and Newt stopped being nice to his clients. He stayed strictly professional and refused any possible _getting to know each other_ attempt. It made him seem cold and pissy, but he always thought it was better that way. All the books he edited after were alright and the Chief forgot about the incident (or more like _put it on hold_ ). And now it happened with Thomas again, and with a book he would _hate_ to see destroyed like this.

“The book would suffer. He is too good for it; I don’t want it to be messed up because I have my mind in the gutter,” he added in a serious voice, feeling the professional Newt taking over, kicking the comfortable one out again.

“But…”

“It’s just the editing thing, I’m not breaking up with him, sheesh,” he threw her a tired glance, absolutely sure she was thinking about that. He sent a “ **come around 12** ” to Thomas and checked the time. It was almost eleven. He had one hour to prepare all documents, notes and manuscripts for Teresa to look over and take as her own. “I will give you all my notes and all his manuscripts to look over. He is good, writing fast, almost zero grammar mistakes. Just some stylistic stuff, maybe better words.”

_It hurts a little, giving it up like this._

“God Newt, slow down a bit,” she took a deep breath, looking at him with exasperation. “Do you hear yourself? Doing this because some small overlooked things?”

“Those _things_ are important in the long run,” he shot back. “I just _can’t_ see them anymore.”

“It’s not even that _bad_ ,” she insisted. “Just a little re-arranging for the flow. You don’t need to give him up because of this!”

“As a client,” he reminded her. “Don’t make it sound so dramatic.”

“He’s not going to be happy,” she noted with a frown and he _hmphed_.

If it was only one mistake, he wouldn’t freak out so much. But the whole 20 pages long manuscript was _full_ of it, and he felt _bad_.

“He will deal. It’s not like I’m leaving him or anything.”

“I don’t like this,” she crossed her arms on her chest. “I think we should both talk to him about this.”

He contemplated it, thinking of the possibility to make Thomas know her a little better, and maybe taking a liking to her to make the cooperation smooth. Teresa was a brilliant editor. She was smart and funny, also very attractive. She had those big blue eyes and perfect hair, and when he thought about a little more she would fit perfectly with him.

He was surprised the response was almost physical how it kicked him in the gut. He was bloody _jealous._

“Are you free around lunch?” he asked her with forced calmness and Teresa nodded, her posture stiff. “Cool. Would you come with us? We can talk about it in person at least.”

She liked him, right? She always made remarks about how _pretty_ he is. That she would _eat him up_. It made his fists clench painfully.

“Fine,” she uttered and turned around, glancing back at him shortly. “But you are making a mistake.”

He watched her suspiciously until she disappeared behind the corner, and then sat back into his seat, angry at everything.

Mainly himself.

                ***

“So serious, Mr. Editor.”

Newt looked up immediately when he heard the voice, just to be greeted with Thomas’ smile. The writer stood in front of his table, hands in pockets and Newt realized he just lost an hour without even noticing.

“Hey, yeah, stuff happened,” he agreed lamely and stood up. Thomas’ smile faded a little and worry appeared instead.

“Something bad?” he asked unhappily and Newt sighed, shrugging.

“Not really that bad, just… yeah,” he clicked Teresa’s name in the office’s chat and sent her the notice to come. “We will tell you during lunch.”

“ _We_?” Thomas repeated with raised eyebrows, visibly uncomfortable with that implication and Newt circled the table and pecked him on lips reassuringly. He wasn’t sure if it was more for him, or just because he wanted Thomas to calm down.

“Just preparing you before I drop the bomb that I got Teresa pregnant,” he whispered into his ear with a forced smirk and Thomas blinked owlishly, apparently torn between happiness from the unexpected kiss in public and worry about the information he got with it.

“Your colleague…?”

“That would be me,” Teresa appeared at the table in her long coat and smiled at Thomas nicely (like, really nicely, friendlier than she ever did at Newt, how unfair is that?). Newt hid a chuckle when the first thing Thomas checked was her belly.

“Shall we go then?” she nodded towards the exit and Newt felt his heart sink a little when Thomas actually smiled at her and said _yes_ without a single complain about the sudden company.

_I regret it already_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you soooo much for the wonderful beta again, misssushicat!!! <3
> 
> Also. Plot twist? Ehe. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading! Feedbacks are loved! <3 Tell me what you think ^.^  
> Love you all, the counter reached past 4k, it's amazing, thank you so much!!! <3


	18. A Restaurant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No, it’s exactly that you don’t want to,” Teresa opposed, her voice sharp as a knife. “Those small overlooked things are nothing. There is no reason for you to give him up like this.”  
> “I’m not giving him up!” he shot right back, an anger rising in him like a heat wave, ready to explode.  
> “It certainly feels like you do though,” she shrugged, casually sipping her drink, looking at him from under long, black eyelashes. “Maybe there is something else you would like to say?”

It was a _disaster_.

Teresa picked some sort of restaurant she liked, Thomas super easily consented and when their food arrived, he ate _like a human_. They talked to each other like long forgotten friends and Newt had a terrible urge to go to the bathroom and flush himself down the toilet. Or at least escape through the window.

Teresa was witty and made the writer laugh so often Newt didn’t even know _how_ and he just sat there, niggling in his food with the fork, and staying utterly ignored. Well – utterly not, Thomas sneaked his hand on Newt’s thigh at some point and rested it there, occasionally rubbing up and down as if he was reassuring him ( _about bloody what? “It’s fine honey; I may completely ignore you, but let me feel you up!”_ ).

He toned out almost everything they said, it sounded more like blabbering in an echo. Why did he come here again? Definitely not for playing the game _who is the most invisible_. What kind of restaurant was this anyway? Everything they served was _vegetarian_. It felt like eating grass. He wasn’t even sure what his meal had to represent – maybe the fight for freedom of cows? Or the rights of chickens? How about _flowers are not a decoration, but food_?

Did Teresa even know what meat was? Or what proteins are? Did she think of eggs as a hen-period? And ate only tofu with grass?

“Wait, what?” a sudden change of Thomas’ tone made Newt to return to reality immediately, raising his head up to see him staring right back at him with wide eyes.

“What?” the blond repeated in confusion and glanced at Teresa, who was looking right back at him challengingly. He didn’t like it.

“You don’t want to be my editor anymore?” Thomas specified the reason of his disbelief and Newt felt his throat tighten.

“It’s not that I _don’t want to_ …” he trailed off a little helplessly, suddenly not sure how exactly he should convey it without sounding like an enormous prick.

“No, it’s exactly that you don’t want to,” Teresa opposed, her voice sharp as a knife. “Those small overlooked things are nothing. There is no reason for you to give him up like this.”

“I’m not _giving him up_!” he shot right back, an anger rising in him like a heat wave, ready to explode.

“It certainly feels like you do though,” she shrugged, casually sipping her drink, looking at him from under long, black eyelashes. “Maybe there is something else you would like to say?”

“Fuck you, Teresa,” he hissed. “You were supposed to support me in this, for fuck’s sake. You keep on drooling after him anyway, what the bloody hell is your problem now?”

Her expression became cold and closed off immediately, but Newt didn’t care. A sharp disappointment kept on jabbing him, a stupid feeling of betrayal pumped through it like a liquid fire. It wasn’t like he _wanted_ to give Thomas up as a _client_. He loved his book and he certainly relished the feeling to be part of it. Taking that privilege away from him _hurt_. And it hurt even more when he saw Thomas was literally shocked by the revelation, and maybe even a little betrayed as well when he heard it, his eyes dark and disbelieving.

“My problem is you are being a drama queen, once again,” she uttered. “But if it’s such a burden for you to actually _pay more attention to what you read_ , I’ll gladly help Tom myself.”

 _Oh, so now it’s “Tom”_.

The thought came out of nowhere and almost burned him physically. When did he become so terribly possessive?

“I don’t need to listen to this,” he stood up abruptly, making the whole restaurant stare at him. He didn’t care in the slightest; he pulled out his wallet instead, threw money on the table and left the place like a tidal wave, leaving confusion behind him.

What was wrong with her? She was supposed to help him explain! Not throw dirt at him, making him the bad guy. Was it some kind of tactic? Or did he just become super paranoid and should seriously reconsider his mental health?

His messy thoughts got interrupted by a swipe of cold wind, freezing him to the bone. It brought him back to reality, finally showing how stupid and hasty he was – he left the coat in the restaurant when he stormed off like an elementary school kid after getting its toy taken, and now he stood on the chilly street like a tit in just Thomas’ shirt.

Before he could decide what action he should take ( _Return? Nah, never. Run all the way to the office, pray for not getting a cold? Maybe. Buying a new coat in the shop over the street? Sounds appealing_ ), a warm cover landed on his shoulders and a familiar texture slunk around his neck.

“Think you forgot something,” Thomas’s voice pierced the silence and Newt couldn’t stop the groan. He shouldn’t have gone after him like this. He felt strong arms circling his waist and pulling him into a reverse back hug.

“Come back inside,” the writer whispered into his ear. “It’s cold.”

“No,” Newt refused, but stayed in the embrace, the warmth slowly seeping back into his body. “I’m sure you can talk with Teresa about the details.”

“No,” Thomas repeated his answer firmly and hugged him even more. “Stop making this difficult.”

“Difficult?” Newt finally gathered the courage to actually glance back at the brunet, frowning, before he caught a glimpse of the stormy face the writer was sporting. It was _angry_ and maybe also a little _desperate,_ a mixture of emotions fighting over dominance and Newt felt his stomach drop at that, a shiver rocking through his body.

“There is _no_ reason for you to quit like this,” Thomas added, allowing the blond turn around and stare at him, but he didn’t let him escape his hold. “Teresa showed me the supposed mistakes, and I assure you – it’s stupid.”

“You don’t get it,” Newt growled, the anger flaming inside of him again. “I’m not doing this because I _want_ to. It’s for the bloody sake of your book! And it’s just _this_ ; I’m not leaving _you_!”

“I wouldn’t let you leave anyway,” Thomas hissed, his posture fell into defensive stance and and it made a red alarm ring in Newt’s mindat that. “But I’m still writing this because _you_ like it.”

“I’ll still like it, still read it, oh my god,” the blond wriggled in the hold, but Thomas didn’t budge. Not that he blamed him. “I’m not _leaving_ for bloody Cambodia!”

“Newt,” Thomas’ voice got lower, more dangerous, but Newt couldn’t back down.

“No, don’t _Newt_ me, you have _no_ idea how _stupid mistakes_ like this can bloody matter in the long run!” he started to fight again, trying to get free, but the writer only caught his wrists in a seizing grip, holding him down with a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

“It means the book will be more _us_ and less _commercial_ ,” he hissed at the editor and Newt froze at the spot.

“Us?” he repeated, dumbfounded, and the hold finally eased off until Thomas let go completely.

“The book is for you,” the brunet’s voice dropped very low, almost inaudible. “It needs your touch. No one else’s. Not Teresa’s not Gally’s, no one else. But you.”

Several seconds passed and Newt couldn’t stop staring. A strange, delighted feeling blossomed in his chest. It spread into his legs, into his arms and the tips of his fingers like a wave of heat that made you feel light and brave.

“Please, don’t tell you don’t want it,” he heard Thomas whisper and it broke him down like a house of cards. He reached out, touching Thomas’ wide shoulders tentatively and then pressed closer, burying his face in his shirt ( _shirt? He ran out without his jacket as well?_ ).

“This is not fair,” he mumbled into the fabric, a well-known heat pooled inside of him. Thomas’ arms returned around his waist, holding him as if his life depended on it. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“They work,” Thomas chuckled into his hair. “They do, right?”

“Yes, you dork. They do,” Newt sighed.

_When did I become so easy?_

“Come back inside?” the writer kissed the top of his head gently and Newt made a disagreeing noise.

“I’ll go back to the office,” he said shortly. He wasn’t ready to face Teresa again. He looked towards the restaurant to give it a stare of defiance and stopped in his tracks immediately.

He forgot the whole restaurant had a huge window instead of the wall, and they stood right in front of it, hugging like idiots. And people stared. So. Hard. He recognized Teresa’s silhouette in the back, but not well enough to be able to read her facial expression. Which was probably for the best.

“Come to my place today?” Thomas’ voice brought him back from the awkward revelation and he cleared his throat, embarrassed.

“I was there until this morning,” he opposed, averting his face from the window, feeling the heat burning his cheeks.

“And you can be there until tomorrow morning again,” the writer chimed, suddenly lifting him in the air like an excited puppy and putting him down again after he got satisfied by the yelp Newt let out.

“No no no, not today,” Newt wriggled again, batting Thomas’ hands away, being super self-conscious when he knew people watched them (a short glance towards the window – yes, they still did).

“Oh come on,” Thomas attempted to catch him again, but Newt took few steps away from him, shaking his head.

“I need to get my own clothes for a change, geez.”

“I have plenty of clothes!” the writer opposed and Newt snorted.

“I can’t wear your clothes all the time,” he chided him, pushing into his shoulder when Thomas attempted to get close again. “ _Stay_.”

“I’m not a dog,” Thomas pointed out and Newt quickly dressed himself properly, buttoning up the coat to keep the cold away.

“That’s right, so you can manage without me for the day,” he gave him a stern look, earning a huff in return. He stood there for a while longer, watching Thomas calmly and then sighed.

“Sorry. For today,” he mumbled.

“Yeah,” the writer nodded. “But as a token of apology you should come to my place. Or I won’t believe you mean it.”

“Nice try,” Newt smirked. That man was going to be a death of him one day. The funny thing was – he apparently didn’t even mind.

***

He managed to avoid Teresa for the whole day. Or maybe she avoided him, he wasn’t sure. He dumped all the gathered notes and manuscripts back into his drawers, feeling a little stupid about it, but at the same time some sort of heavy weight lifted off his chest. He never realized how much it apparently meant for Thomas that he worked on his book this closely. He had tried not to mix work and personal life again, he already got burned once, but here he was, getting guilt tripped into staying in this position.

Well. Guilt tripped was probably too strong of a word. But he would be lying if he said it was his decision entirely. Thomas words had a huge impact on his choices lately. Far greater than he thought. How deep had he already fallen for this guy? It felt unreal. Nothing had happened between them when he thought about it more. No sex. Nothing more than kissing. He would normally think that’s weird and wouldn’t even work in any other relationship. But with Thomas? It felt like it’s alright. Progressing as it should.

And it was _scary_. Thomas was _scary_. There were moments where Newt wondered how far it could go with this guy. What he would do for Newt in order to get him stay? How deep his possessiveness went? How much could Newt withstand without breaking?

How far he already fell that he didn’t mind?

“Soooo… Where did you hide the body?” a voice jerked him away from the thoughts and he realized he’d been leaning over the table as if he was dead tired and barely keeping himself awake.

“What?” he quickly straightened up, noticing Alby in front of the desk with a smirk on his face.

“You left with Teresa, but got back without her. Was wondering, since she’s still not here,” his colleague shrugged and Newt just made a random noise of dissatisfaction. He was still on edge from her “Tom” and that weird nagging; he just couldn’t care less about her whereabouts. Her behaviour perplexed him, but he was too annoyed to analyse it. If she really wanted to work with Thomas, the topic could’ve been handled a lot better. Probably not successfully, since Thomas was fully against it, but definitely better.

“We had a disagreement,” he uttered when Alby kept on looking at him expectantly and the man only sighed in defeat.

“Figures. She said it’s probably going to drive a wedge between you.”

“You talked about it?” that made Newt perk up immediately and Alby shrugged again.

“She just mentioned you had a mental breakdown,” the way he said it made Newt roll his eyes. He could totally see that minx describing it like that, just for the giggles. “Guess she expected the worst.”

“Guess she could have tried a little better,” Newt muttered, ignoring Alby’s chuckle.

“I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want to steal your _boyfriend_ , if that’s what’s bothering you.”

“Shut up,” Newt grumbled. “I’d like to see her try.”

“Ohoho,” Alby’s hand landed heavily on Newt’s shoulder, clasping him in a friendly manner. “Man you got it hard, huh. I’m happy for you.”

Newt flinched a little at that, guilt slowly seeping into his consciousness. Alby had always been the best friend he had - supportive, never letting him down. Such a simple statement – _being happy for him_ – it meant so much. And he let him down before with Clara, noting now how cold and ugly it must had been for Alby, not having his support.

He glanced back at the man, smiled at him.

“Thanks, Alby,” he said honestly, earning a similar smile in return.

“Anytime, man,” his friend assured him and Newt could have sworn he saw a glimpse of sadness on his face, his own loss probably making itself known again.

“Hey, Alby,” he began, having a full attention of the man. “If you proposed to me, I wouldn’t throw the ring at you.”

“Aww, how sweet,” Alby cooed, his face brightening up and Newt snorted.

“Yeah. I’d take it, tell you that you’re not my type and sell it.”

“Smooth,” Alby ruffled his hair with a laughter and saluted him. “See ya later, lovebird.”

“Yeah…” Newt mumbled, watching the man leave with a small smirk and grabbed his phone to check for messages.

The phone had one unread text from Thomas, but it got postponed when Newt realized what he was looking at.

His phone’s background had Thomas’ photo on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the amazing beta misssushicat! <3
> 
> First off: I am very sorry for the delay! I didn't have time to complete the chapter yesterday and definitely didn't want to rush it, so it got delayed until today QQ
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting! <3  
> Feedbacks are loved <3  
> Your support means a lot, I can't even say how happy I am for the patience and kind comments <3


	19. Ramen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So,” he turned his searing attention back on Newt and the blond fidgeted a little under the scrutiny. “I take it you are now on speaking terms?”  
> “With Thomas?” Newt made sure and Minho nodded lightly, sprawling at his half of the table languidly. “Yes.”  
> “Sex terms?”  
> “No,” the blond answered honestly without hesitation and Minho raised an eyebrow.

Newt felt cold. Cold and restless and maybe also a little annoyed, and his bed seemed super uncomfortable and not warm enough. He couldn’t fall asleep, his eyes kept on skimming towards the clock, counting minutes and hours and hoping that maybe, just maybe if he closed his eyes and opened them again, it would be 6 o’clock and it would mean he’d slept for 3 hours. But with each blink only minutes passed and no sleep came.

He reached for his phone for probably the 100th time already, unlocking it and pretending he is browsing through messages or notes while looking at the background silently, feeling super stupid about it, but doing it anyway. Thomas’ smiling face calmed him down somehow, and he had to admit he needed to give kudos to Teresa for the idea. He didn’t doubt it was her who set up the background anyway, probably thinking it was a needed addition to the relationship, to feed this custom of having photos of your significant other as a phone background.

Did Thomas have his photo stashed somewhere? Probably not, from where, right? And why even. He wouldn’t do it by himself either, setting it up like a love sick girl, if Teresa didn’t take the initiative. He just didn’t have the heart to put it away now, when it was already there, _claiming_ the man. Maybe he wouldn’t even mind when someone took his phone, looking at it, asking _who is that guy? Your boyfriend_? And he would say _yes_ and wouldn’t even mind doing so.

_He turned my brain into mush._

He groaned and tossed on his other side. 3:15. Time mocked him, his bed felt like rocky ground and he couldn’t think of anything else to busy himself with. He was done with his work, re-edited the manuscript from before, and Thomas didn’t send any new addition. The short bit he read with an e-mail didn’t take as much of time as Newt expected, and thankfully also left the main character alive (so far, he reminded himself. Thomas hinted it may change).

He gingerly opened the text he received today, reading it again, already knowing it word from word.

- **Pack some of your clothes for tomorrow. I’m soooo expecting you to sleep here, yeah? Love you. T.** -

He had read it at least ten times already and his stomach still lurched at it excitedly. He wasn’t even sure at which bit - the _love you_ one made him feel warm and happy, and the implication of spending yet another night cocooned in his warmth made him content and probably also a little nervous (but the nice type of nervousness, definitely).

He contemplated to text him and try and see if he is asleep, but stopped himself each time. Of course he is awake; Thomas was a heavy, deep sleeper who hated getting up early or keeping himself from his daily dose of rest. Newt couldn’t bring himself to disturb him, so he let the phone fall back on his bed, turning away from it and attempting to doze off once more.

At 3:20 he got back up and smoked.

***

“Not enough sleep?” Alby’s voice greeted him right the moment he entered the office and his colleague stood there with two mugs of coffee in hands, offering one to him. Newt wasn’t big on coffee, but he felt like he desperately needed one today or his perception of reality was going to end in a dump.

“Thank you,” he croaked, taking the mug gratefully and sipping the bitter liquid gingerly. “I haven’t slept at all.”

“Again?” Alby sent him a worried look and Newt hummed in response. His sleeping problems hadn’t been a secret, but he learned to deal with it (or his body did for the better understanding), an hour per night was a luxury at times and surprisingly enough. Sometimes he slept three, four hours and that was counted a big success, but he considered it rare. And then there were nights when he hadn’t slept _at all_ , staring dumbly at the ceiling or outside his flat, at the worst case also smoking one cigarette after another (like this night, he was actually glad he run out after the 4th). He always had been tired like hell after a night like that, but today it felt even worse – a kind of heavy, unsatisfied feeling in his gut like something was missing, and he couldn’t get rid of the cold and discomfort sticking to him like glue.

“Yeah, bad night,” he mumbled in response, making Alby even more frowny and worried, and he offered a weak smile: “It’s fine, man. I’ll spend the night at Tommy’s place today, it should be better.”

“Tommy, huh,” Alby’s expression changed immediately, like a cat who got to the cream, and Newt cursed himself internally. It happened sometimes when he thought of Thomas as “Tommy”, pet naming him stupidly, and he always felt like an idiot after saying it out loud, if it wasn’t meant as a teasing.

“Yes, sue me,” he grumbled and sipped a little more of coffee while Alby grinned like a Cheshire cat.

“You sleep better with him around, huh?” a surprisingly smart remark followed and Newt had to agree. The last night he spent at Thomas’s place proved amazing, he slept for the _whole night_ , 7 or 8 hours, which hadn’t happened forever. He felt safe with him, and warm, and his bed was definitely hella more comfortable than his (although he couldn’t find out why), and he could be sure that after waking up Thomas would still be there, plastered all over his back, snoring lightly.

A sudden flash of light startled him and he stared back at Alby, who was holding his phone, smirking at the photo he just took.

“Man,” Alby chuckled, looking at his new addition to the gallery. “This expression is some Disney shit.”

“What the…” Newt opened his mouth with a demand of a deletion (no doubt Alby just snapped a photo _of him_ looking like an idiot), but his colleague only hid his phone with a loud “nuh-uh”, patted Newt’s cheek like a proud parent and strode towards his table, whistling happily.

Newt stood there dumbfounded for a little longer, before a sweep of cold air from the door that let in another colleague woke him up from the shock and he stalked towards his own desk.

***

“Heeey, hot stuff!”

Newt froze in the middle of the sentence he was writing looked up, startled like a deer in highlights. A black haired Asian stood in front of his table, grinning widely at him, and Newt’s mind did a double take.

“Remember me?” the man asked with a smirk and Newt nodded silently, still not really getting the situation. What was Minho (it was Minho, right? Or at least he hoped that’s right) doing at his table? Did he fall asleep and was dreaming now? Why would he even dream about this guy?

“Coolio,” Minho smiled even more. “Lunch time then! I meant to catch up with you sooner, but Thomas kept on hogging you for himself. I needed to change my strategy.”

“Wait, what?” Newt blurted out, completely not understanding what was going on, but Minho was already picking up his coat, looking appraisingly at the scarf that was originally Thomas’ and holding it up for the blond to take.

“A lunch. We should talk a little, mate,” Minho winked ( _winked!)_ at him. “Stuff happened as I gathered, and I seriously wanna know you bit more before leaving Tom-Tom on his own in this, if you catch my drift?”

“I’m afraid I completely lost _your drift_ ,” Newt shook his head, but took the coat anyway, noting a fleeting form of Teresa walking through the hallway. They hadn’t spoken a word since yesterday and he started to feel bad about it, but Minho’s bright attitude snatched the attention back to him in a second.

“No worries, bun, I’ll get you on the right track soon,” he patted him reassuringly on his arm and Newt instinctively jerked away from the touch, chiding himself for the reaction immediately. Minho either didn’t notice or decided to overlook it, because he turned around swiftly and started marching towards the exit, leaving Newt running after him like a lost chicken. The editor didn’t even know why he wanted to catch up instead of flipping him off, but he did anyway. He shot Alby an apologetic smile for leaving him once more without a lunch partner and exited the office right after Minho. The cold wind woke him up a little at least and Minho jumped to the edge of the pavement in the meantime, calling for a cab.

His radical movement and a strange _follow-the-leader_ attitude made Newt not wanting to question him, so he just jumped in the car with him and let the driver take them to a spot Minho ordered him to.

***

It was a ramen shop. Newt stayed quiet, but really wondered if Minho seriously fell into a typical stereotype or if he was just testing him. Since his partner didn’t say anything and entered the shop happily, he only followed him, trying to remember if he ever ate this thing. Probably not.

They sat in the back of the small room, surprisingly finding a free table, and Minho ordered for both of them without even asking.

“So,” he turned his searing attention back on Newt and the blond fidgeted a little under the scrutiny. “I take it you are now on speaking terms?”

“With Thomas?” Newt made sure and Minho nodded lightly, sprawling at his half of the table languidly. “Yes.”

“Sex terms?”

“No,” the blond answered honestly without hesitation and Minho raised an eyebrow.

“For real?” he asked curiously, leaning a bit forward so he could lower his voice a bit. “Not even, you know?” His up and down gesture made Newt groan and hide his face in palms.

“No, not even that,” he mumbled, feeling the hotness creeping up on him.

“Holy shit,” Minho whistled appraisingly. “That’s pretty cool.”

“Cool?” Newt peeked at him from between fingers, not really understanding. “Not having sex in a relationship is _cool_?”

“A relationship, huh,” Minho smirked, making him even redder. “Yes, honey buns. That’s like super awesome. Taking it slow? Absolutely terrific.”

“You lost me,” Newt sighed deeply. Was he really talking about his sex life with what was basically a complete stranger to him? He must have gone mad.

“Thomas has a bad habit of rushing into things,” Minho shrugged and smiled widely at the waitress that brought them their food and drinks, winking at her. She twirled and left giggling. “So yeah. Those habits got him into trouble. Well, lots of trouble.”

“Is that so?” Newt dared to sip his coca cola (caffeine, thank god, he needed _more_ ) and Minho nodded curtly.

“The thing is. He is already pretty messed up as it is,” the Asian drummed his fingers against the table melodically. “I was just concerned, since he fell so deep with you – trust me, it’s annoying at times, and all he talks about is you and you, and also you. Did I mention you?”

“I, uh…”

“So I got you here because I wanna know what’s your story, capisce?” he pointed at him with a serious look. “What are you after?”

“I’m sorry, but what?” Newt blinked in a shock. “What do you want me to say? Are you his chaperone?”

“Yeah, I sorta am, thanks for asking,” Minho grinned, but the drumming stopped. “You gotta understand. A friend will support you, but the best friend is gonna do everything to keep you safe. I believe you agree?”

“Sentimental, but yes,” Newt mumbled, reaching for the huge steaming bowl of soup, already liking the smell. “So are you trying to tell me you dragged me here because you want to protect his virtue?”

“Virtue? He doesn’t have any,” Minho snorted and followed Newt’s example, sniffling appraisingly at the food. “Sanity, more like it. That’s what he needs to have protected.”

It made Newt stop for a bit, looking at his companion with a silent question.

“Look, bunny. I dunno how you did it, but you so did,” Minho shrugged, eating the egg from the bowl. “He definitely became much more chipper from day one with you. Like, excited, a puppy-like style. I was wondering if he didn’t get into LSD or something with how sudden the change was. Just one day he came from his walk and voila! Smiling like an idiot.”

“Can you stop with the nicknames?” Newt frowned and Minho laughed a little.

“No. So where was I? Oh yeah. So that happened,” he stuffed his mouth with noodles and Newt made a face at him. Apparently their friendship included similar table manners. “Twust me, was a bwig change-,”

“Stop talking and eating at the same time,” Newt reprimanded him sternly and Minho gave him an exasperated look, but did what he was told. Once he swallowed and cleared the tears from his eyes due to the high temperature, he pointed the chopsticks at Newt.

“I like you. You can definitely keep him in line with this attitude.”

“As long as I can keep you away from talking to me with a full mouth, I’m happy,” Newt opposed. He was wondering what Minho meant with “keeping Thomas in line”, but he decided not to ask too many questions.

It worked like a summoning though, because Newt’s phone rang suddenly with Thomas’ name on it. Minho sent him a cheeky smile when seeing the picture, but Newt ignored him, answering the call after the third ring.

“Hey,” he said with a frown pointed at Minho who started to make kissy faces at him and Thomas’ happy greeting flooded the line.

“Was just wondering why you aren’t answering your mails, sorry, are you busy?” the writer asked with a worried undertone and Newt sighed at that.

“Not really busy, it’s just that your nanny decided to drag me out for ramen,” he said, pushing Minho away when he leaned forward to catch the conversation.

“My what now?”

“Can you stop it?!” Newt barked out when his companion started to make grabby hands on his phone and Minho just laughed.

“Is that Minho?” Thomas immediately understood, but his voice didn’t sound happy at all.

“Hey, cutie pie!” Minho called as loudly and obnoxiously as he could and Newt was on the verge of kicking his shin under the table.

“What the f… alright, hold on, I’ll get there.” Newt heard Thomas scramble and lots of banging noise followed. “Is he bothering you? For fuck’s sake, lend him the phone for a bit, will ya?”

“Uh… okay,” the blond concurred and offered the device to the Asian who took it immediately. Before he could say anything (and from the deep inhale Newt was sure he wanted to), yelling came from the other side. It was muffled so Newt didn’t understand, but even Minho cringed a little at that. Then he put the phone down in front of the blond and snorted.

“Well. Adults are going to have a discussion,” he concluded, not really looking phased by it.

“I don’t really get it?” Newt admitted, feeling a little lame and Minho patted him on his shoulder, a touch he forced to indulge.

“Well, short version is – he didn’t want me to talk to you alone. So here you go, it’s gonna be wild. Be prepared.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank youuuuuuuuuu misssushicat!! <3 Amazing beta as always ^.^
> 
> Minhoooooooooo :D I am sorry it took so long for me to bring him back, but I hope his appearance didn't disappoint ^.^. I enjoyed this chapter so much for some reason, it was easy and fast to write and I can totally feel Newt's personality getting warmer and friendlier :)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting! It makes me so happy <3  
> Feedbacks are loved to death <3  
> If you have any question or an idea what you would like to know or read in this, don't be afraid to tell me ;)


	20. Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you have a brother maybe?” the Asian asked with a wonder in his voice and Newt stopped in his tracks, not really getting the implication.  
> “No?” he answered a little unsure and Minho sighed.  
> “Dang. Thomas, if you two broke up, I am taking him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated M for pointless iMature content I so lamely put at the end. Sorry QQ

Newt believed a world record had been broken with how fast Thomas arrived. He burst into the shop like a hurricane, startling the waitress so much she almost dropped the ramen she held, and Newt felt his body shrinking in an expectation of the worst. Minho on the other hand rose up to meet him, even though Thomas looked like the only thing he wanted meeting included his fist into Minho’s face.

“What the fuck were you thinking?!” he barked at the Asian, actually shoving him backwards. Minho had to expect it because he almost didn’t move and just stared him down with a small smirk playing on his lips.

“Well hello, Tom-Tom,” he greeted him happily, making Thomas even more furious. “How about you sit your butt down and stop making a scene so we can talk like _humans_ for a change? You are scaring your bun here.”

“Stop calling me bun-,” Newt started at the same time when Thomas was saying “Stop calling him that-,” and it made Minho holler with laughter.

“C’mon man, sit down, your bf needs to go back to work, you know,” Minho pulled Thomas’ sleeve and resumed his sitting position. It apparently worked because Thomas actually did shed his jacket and sat down with a stormy expression on his face. Then, as if he just woken up from a dream, he turned to Newt and swiftly touched the nape of his neck, as if he was checking his state.

“You okay?”

“Yes,” Newt rolled his eyes, nodding towards Minho. “He’s not the murderer type you know. Calm down.”

“He has his ways,” Thomas uttered dryly and Minho chuckled into his drink.

“You didn’t give me this much love forever, man. Must be serious,” he pointed at Newt meaningfully and Thomas inched a little closer to the blond. “And you can’t blame me for checking up on him, right?”

“Oh, I’m sure I can,” Thomas opposed and Newt noticed how tense the writer became, as if he was ready to pounce. Wasn’t Minho his best friend? “So what nonsense did you spout?”

“Nonsense? Excuse me? I speak only truth and occasional precise aimed remarks,” Minho faked a hurt tone and sent Newt a wink. It elicited an unpleased growl from Thomas and Newt shrunk even further.

“You know, this is actually awesome,” the Asian continued and picked another egg from the bowl, eating it. He didn’t talk until he swallowed; looking at Newt expectantly and the blond wondered if he wanted a medal for that or something.

“This guy,” Minho pointed at the editor with his chopsticks again (nasty habit). “Is pretty cool. He totally won’t take shit from you, no matter how hard you try.”

“Will you shut up?” Thomas barked with his fists clenched painfully. “Don’t drag Newt into this, would you kindly?”

“Oh honey bee, he is already _in this_ over head and ears,” Minho’s face didn’t stop smiling, but there was something more serious in his dark eyes. Newt couldn’t pinpoint what it was. “Look, I didn’t recite him your past experiences or failures or trophies or anything. We just had lunch – well, not yet, but we got it brought to us at least – and that’s it.”

“Right,” Thomas muttered. “Cuz that’s totally like you, _just having lunch with someone’s else boyfriend_.”

Newt frowned at that and Minho dropped the smile for the first time they sat back down.

“That was a bit too low, even for you, Thomas,” the Asian commented sternly. The writer’s expression didn’t change a bit and Newt cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Not really keen to bother you, boys,” he started in a low voice. “But I think this conversation is not really meant for my ears, so if you excuse me, I have work to do.”

“No no,” Minho immediately opposed. “I think this is perfectly fit for you.”

“Of course,” Thomas hissed. “Why not, do tell him. Tell him how I fucked up, cuz that’s exactly what he needs to hear. Because apparently I haven’t been creepy enough already, so knowing about my fuck ups is just adding a nice picture to the collection.”

His posture became openly offensive, something Newt hadn’t seen on him before, and Minho’s face cringed.

“No,” Newt said resolutely. Both men looked at him in confusion at first and he stood up, reaching for his coat. “I don’t want to hear this.”

He pulled out his walled, threw money on the table (a terrible habit lately, not even finishing his food – hell, he didn’t even taste it today!) and circled the table slowly.

“If there is something he wants to tell me, he will. Neither of us needs a bloody chaperone,” he pointed at Minho probably a little too accusingly and the Asian blinked few times in surprise. “I appreciate he has a good friend who will step out for him, but man, calm your bust before you combust, seriously. Making him angry and uncomfortable with talking behind his back about something he doesn’t want anyone to know is bloody rude.”

Minho whistled and Thomas probably never looked more proud.

“Do you have a brother maybe?” the Asian asked with a wonder in his voice and Newt stopped in his tracks, not really getting the implication.

“No?” he answered a little unsure and Minho sighed.

“Dang. Thomas, if you two break up, I am taking him.”

“Fuck you too,” the writer bristled, but there was humour behind it and it made Newt relax a bit. He almost stumbled and fell when Minho reached out for him and dragged him back to the table.

“I believe leaving the food untouched is a serious faux pas in some cultures, so why wouldn’t you stay a little longer with us?” he nudged the bowl back to him and Newt opened his mouth to answer, but Minho took the bank note he threw on the table before and held it in front of his face. “And I am paying. For the trouble.”

“Get a dessert too, he doesn’t do this often,” Thomas added quickly and Newt snorted, taking the bank note back. He didn’t comment on how Thomas pulled him closer to his side, holding him possessively, and he tried very hard to overlook how Minho kept on grinning at them.

“You’re still coming over today, right?” Thomas whispered to him when Minho got busy with the waitress again, ordering for Thomas automatically.

“Yeah,” Newt nodded meekly, letting the writer intertwine their fingers together. “But no more surprises.”

“Can’t promise that,” Thomas chuckled, kissing Newt’s temple gently. “Sorry about Minho.”

“He is trainable,” Newt smirked. “I can imagine Teresa would be his female copy if she was at his position.”

“Not considering her a friend?” that apparently piqued Thomas’ curiosity and Newt waved his free hand.

“Acquaintance,” he said lightly. “She is pissing me off with the nagging too much for the _friend_ title in my book.”

“Ah,” the writer mumbled. “My bad. Thought she was sort of a bestie?”

“No thanks,” Newt uttered. For how much the girl seemed to like pointing out interesting stuff, even truthful ones, Newt never considered her close enough to turn to her when something happened. She definitely wasn’t even on his top ten.

“The hottie colleague of his?” Minho’s voice interrupted his thoughts quickly and his eyebrows couldn’t climb high enough at that notion.

“The... geez, Minho, I haven’t said it _like that_ ,” Thomas groaned, squeezing Newt’s hand firmly. “I just said she is _attractive_.”

“A hottie,” Minho shrugged and focused on Newt. “Also single I heard?”

“No idea,” the blond shrugged, stifling a laugh at how agitated Thomas suddenly became. “But yes, she’s really pretty.”

“I should come to your office more often,” Minho concluded and Newt barked a laugh when Thomas immediately shot out: “hell no” at him. With their bickering flying across the table he finally started to eat his soup.

It was superb.

***

Newt felt tired. When the clock reached 3 PM, he felt like falling asleep on the spot, and only a text from Thomas woke him up from the fatigue, telling him he ordered Chinese and asking if it is okay. Newt smiled sleepily, typing something in return (he hoped it was something along the “fine” lines for his own sake) and dragged himself up. A steaming cup of coffee greeted him suddenly and he stared at it wide eyed for at least a minute.

He didn’t make coffee, unless he had been sleepwalking. He hadn’t heard anyone offer him any either, not to mention stop by his table to put it there. And yet, here it was.

He stared at it a little longer, but since his sleep-deprived brain couldn’t think of anything better, he took it and started sipping it slowly, avoiding the burn carefully. It had milk in it, as well as a bit of sugar. He liked it that way if he _had_ to drink coffee, even though a simple black one would help him better (but he couldn’t drink that without making faces).

His first thought included Thomas, but he doubted very much he would stop by just to make him coffee and then disappear right after it. Since the liquid was still reasonably hot, it had to be made recently, and the writer would surely have waited for Newt to take him home instead of waiting for him to arrive.

Not Thomas then. That would leave Alby, but Newt was aware of the fact his colleague left one hour ago already.

“You’re welcome,” a female voice interrupted his thoughts like a knife and he almost spilled the coffee on his shirt, cursing internally. Teresa stood there, holding a stack of papers in her hand, looking at him with a blank expression.

“Thanks,” he mumbled. “I appreciate it.”

She seemed like she wanted to say something, but changed her mind and just curtly nodded, leaving again without another word. Before she disappeared in the corridor, she stopped, glanced back and said: “You should take care of yourself a little better.”

Not waiting for a reply Newt didn’t even have she left the main room, leaving the speechless blond behind her.

The coffee just got a lot more bitter.

***

A single knock was all it took for the door to open and Newt suspected Thomas was sitting right behind it all this time. He couldn’t even say hello because the writer pulled him in immediately, greeting him with a kiss that made his toes curl.

“Thom-mmnh,” his second attempt ended the same, and on the third he managed only to breathe in a little before his back hit the door and Thomas started to pull at his coat.

“Wait, what’s going o-mmmh.”

The last kiss made him lose it completely, his hands clutching Thomas’ shoulders in a death grip when his legs turned into rubber, not being able to hold him up. There was an impatience in Thomas’ touches, and a hunger in his kisses as if he couldn’t hold himself back even for a single minute. His hands dragged the offensive coat from Newt’s frame fast, leaving it pooled around Newt’s feet, and the blonde gasped desperately for breath when the kisses moved to his neck, leaving hot, wet trails in their wake.

Another tug at his shirt and a bite on his collarbone made him moan and his heart beat faster, fighting its way out of his ribcage.

“Thomas, let me at least take my shoes off…” he mumbled and the writer suddenly straightened up as if he just realized what he was doing, looking at Newt’s dishevelled state, breathing heavily.

“Shoes, right,” he croaked, stepping away awkwardly. The blond quickly took off both shoes, placing them neatly on the mat next to Thomas’ and picked up the coat as well, hanging it slowly where it belonged.

“Done?” Thomas cocked his head to the side and Newt expected irony in his voice, but there was none, only a genuine question that sounded more like _can I?_

“Done,” he chuckled, but even though he knew Thomas was going to continue his sudden intimate ministrations, he still didn’t predict his back connecting with the door once more. Thomas became desperately demanding and the first thought that came to Newt’s mind was: _What happened? What’s going on?_

“Did something… happen?” he breathed out when the brunet nibbled at the crook of his neck and his hands fought their way under the blonde’s shirt, roaming around his naked skin in an explorative manner.

“Nope,” came an answer and Newt rolled his eyes, tugging at Thomas’ hair threateningly.

“What happened?” he appealed, and in his mind also an accusing “ _And what happened to your brain, turning the guy down after the scene you made about not getting laid?!”_ sounded like a doorbell.

“Nothing happened,” Thomas insisted, returning to Newt’s lips slowly. “But you came here and I appreciate it.”

“That’s hardly new,” the blond opposed, frowning slightly.

“And you are hot,” Thomas added into his ear in a whisper. It shot right though him like electricity.

“And I just.” A nibble to his earlobe, making him shiver.

“Can’t.” A lick at the stripe of his neck, eliciting a moan.

“Wait.” A bite to his jaw, followed by a whimper.

“Any.” A light touch of his lips over Newt’s, making him gasp.

“Longer.”

Thomas sealed his lips uncompromisingly, a kiss so deep and searing it bleached Newt’s mind thoroughly. When the writer got back for air, Newt dazedly watched him with half lidded eyes as if he was in some kind of dream.

“Alright,” he said only, his voice hoarse, and it made Thomas’ eyes go fully pupil-blown and dark. Before Newt could react, he was suddenly lifted up, his legs automatically locking around Thomas’ hips and his arms supported him on the writer’s shoulders. The contact made him groan and Thomas smiled darkly, holding him easily.

“Alright,” he echoed Newt’s response in a rumbly voice and the blond lost it completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betad by the amazing misssushicat! <3 Thank you so much, hun! <3
> 
> Asdfjdfdjf, this chapter, siiiiiiiiiiigh. I had the whole free day for it and still procrastinated so much! Anyway... yeah. So, I know it prolly left more questions than answers, but yeah :D Yay for pointless smut at the end! I need end this thing soon lol. Or we are going to have a never ending soap opera on us QQ
> 
> Thank you all for reading!!! Love you so much, and your comments and your praise and adfdjfdjfd, I am so proud and honored you are still around and actually interested in it, I can't even QQ  
> Feedbacks are loved to death! Also hugged and deeply appreciated and I don't know how to express my gratitude with lame thank you and hearts, but it just makes my day so much better you have no idea. Sorry, now I am rambling QQ


	21. A Couch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you even real?” he blurted out and Thomas barked a laugh, tenseness slowly seeping away from his body. His hand rested heavily at the buckle now and Newt liked the weight.  
> “I’m pretty sure, yeah,” he nodded with a smile. “Are you?”  
> “Definitely,” the blond nodded frantically. “I never felt realer.”   
> “Is realer even a word?” Thomas chuckled, his hand slowly leaving the buckle and sliding up Newt’s stomach.   
> “Sorry for not lending you a dictionary at the moment,” Newt huffed, sending a death glare at the man when the hand skimmed too close to his ticklish side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated M. The whole chapter. So sorry. Seriously, aaaah QQ

If someone asked about Newt’s sex life, he would say he lived through his share of experiences and the only thing that could surprise him would include something bizarrely kinky (and he would rather not go into that, thank you). He considered sex merely as a tool in a relationship that showed the attraction on a deeper level, an enjoyable one no doubt, but a tool nevertheless. At some point he almost took it as an obligation, a duty he had to fulfil for the sake of the union with the other person – to show he is really committed. But he admitted it never held a significant meaning to him, not on any other level than _because it was expected_.

With Thomas this meaning suddenly lost its weight. Not to mention they _dated_ without sex, and Newt, even after the initial discomfort, found out he was _okay with that_. For some reason he felt comfortable and _happy_ with kisses and cuddling together on couch and in bed, to spend time languidly in the presence of the other, talking nonsense, keeping the unforced contact.

Well, until now.

Suddenly everything seemed vane and unimportant with how Thomas kept on touching him. Slow, burning strokes that left tingling trails on Newt’s body were driving the blond crazy with want, his breath was coming out in fast, ragged doses, and it was almost _too much_ , _too intimate, too sweet_ , but Thomas didn’t stop (and Newt had to admit he would probably kill him if he did). What he didn’t map with his (bloody skilled, don’t forget to point that out, for god’s sake, _too much_!) hands, he kissed or licked or bit (Newt was pretty sure his neck wouldn’t be presentable the next day, _no way_ ) and the blond kept on whimpering under the onslaught, his hands scrambling over the wide back his _lover_ , pulling at the shirt blindly.

“Get it _off!_ ” he hissed at the offensive garment and heard Thomas chuckle somewhere around his stomach where he was landing small kisses along his navel, boldly dipping his tongue where he definitely _shouldn’t_ if he wanted Newt to maintain the little of sanity he had left.

Newt’s breath hitched a little when he watched the writer sit back up on the couch (where they landed unceremoniously before), his eyes not leaving Newt when he reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and throwing it somewhere behind him. Newt’s absolutely hazed mind helpfully supplied that he never saw Thomas without his shirt before, and it seemed strange at first, since they were already sleeping together. But true nevertheless, the shirt always stayed as well as Newt’s did (except that one time on this same spot with Thomas cheekily tickling him), and the sight now made him even more excited, his eyes immediately drawn to the treasure trail disappearing behind the waistband of Thomas’ pants. He gulped heavily, feeling his body shivering and Thomas descended once more, pulling at Newt’s shirt now, discarding it completely.

“Nervous?” he whispered hoarsely and the blond closed his eyes in a futile attempt to even his breathing. When it didn’t work, he opened them slowly, looking at Thomas with an inability to fully focus again.

“Yeah,” he croaked, reaching for the writer’s chest, dragging his fingers down towards the waistband. “I don’t know why. But bloody hell, I am.”

“Me too,” Thomas smiled softly, catching Newt’s hand and putting it where his heart was. The wild thumping Newt immediately felt thrumming under his palm made him warmer and even tenser in a foolish expectation of the sky crashing and mountains moving for how overwhelmed he suddenly became.

Thomas heart was beating like crazy, an alarmed bird in a cage wildly trashing around in fear? Longing? Excitement? His own heart could match the tempo so easily it almost hurt.

“Newt,” Thomas’ voice flooded his ears gently. “Is this okay?”

An unsure touch on his stomach uncertainly slid lower, tugging at the belt on his jeans, and it left the blond speechless for a second, only staring back at the man above him in wonder.

_Is he even real?_

“Are you even real?” he blurted out and Thomas barked a laugh, tenseness slowly seeping away from his body. His hand rested heavily at the buckle now and Newt liked the weight.

“I’m pretty sure, yeah,” he nodded with a smile. “Are you?”

“Definitely,” the blond nodded frantically. “I never felt realer.”

“Is realer even a word?” Thomas chuckled, his hand slowly leaving the buckle and sliding up Newt’s stomach.

“Sorry for not lending you a dictionary at the moment,” Newt huffed, sending a death glare at the man when the hand skimmed too close to his ticklish side.

“Sorry for not even letting you leave the couch,” Thomas smirked, leaning down, licking the stripe of Newt’s side teasingly, and making the blond gasp. His hand returned to the buckle and tugged slightly, watching Newt for any reaction that could follow. He probably noted the sudden tenseness that overcame him, a revelation it was seriously going to happen right here, right now, and stayed still for a moment. It took several seconds for Thomas’ hand to slowly abandon the belt and support him when he leaned over his partner, his whole body rising up into a crouched position instead of the sitting one. Newt didn’t protest when he dipped his head down to kiss him, instead he opened his mouth and took in his probing tongue in exchange of his, noting the slow, deliberate pace Thomas chose. His own hands slid up along the writer’s sides, dragging his nails over the smooth skin, holding him in place. He felt so warm, almost burning and Newt couldn’t get enough. The kiss was raw and deep, and if Newt didn’t know there were any other forms of sex, he would think they were making love right now. Hell, just a little more and he would be ready to come in his pants.

After a short while Thomas slowly descended back on Newt’s body, lying flat on him, his mouth leisurely changing the location from his lips to his neck. Newt felt the scrape of his teeth and let out a shaky breath when Thomas bit down a little harder than before. He couldn’t deny it was doing things to his body, a heat was pooling in his groin and it couldn’t possibly escape Thomas’ attention, since he was lying right on top of him, pressing their bodies together, but he didn’t act on it. Newt was starting to feel the strain, and it was getting worse with every nibble Thomas landed here and there. He didn’t even know he was so sensitive in the neck area, it never held any special significance while making out with anyone before.

“Thomas,” he breathed out when his hips involuntarily bucked up and the writer didn’t even react, stubbornly sucking hickeys into the sensitive skin instead. It took one hair pull for Thomas to stop and raise his head to look Newt in the eye. His face immediately lit up with a smirk.

“This should be documented, you are so… messed up,” he grinned at the blond cheekily and traced Newt’s face with his fingers, only to stop at his lips. “And flushed. Sexy.”

The editor groaned in frustration.

“You want me?”

The usage of a rough, dangerous tone made Newt’s breath hitch in his throat. The heat was gradually seeping to the rest of his body, making him hot and bothered and needy, and Thomas just _laid_ there, watching him, but restraining from any other movement than stroking his face, touching his lips lightly.

“Look at you,” Thomas’s voice was deep and rich, resonating inside of him. “You want it, don’t you. You need it.”

“Thomas-,”

“Tell me you do,” the writer whispered into his ear. It shot right from Newt’s head to his groin, a nearly painful twitch which made his body tense up suddenly. He couldn’t form a coherent thought in his head, his eyes fully focused on the brunet above him. Thomas’ eyes felt like they could see right through him, into his skull, reading his mind. They were intense and dark, hungry and piercing, mapping him greedily. He didn’t do anything, he even stopped with the touches, only looking, taking Newt in, and the blond was burning already.

“Yesss.”

Thomas’ lips turned upwards, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. They stayed hungry and demanding and Newt couldn’t look away until a hand gripped him tight through his jeans, and he let out whine and threw his head back. A pressure of Thomas’ body suddenly disappeared and before Newt could even look up and find out why, a violent jerk rocked with him and he found himself with legs spread wide, propped on Thomas’ hips, and with Thomas’ hand on his waist, holding him firmly on place. The position was intimate and open and Newt gulped loudly, squirming a little to find a more comfortable position, his legs locking behind Thomas’ back. His breath came out in quick, shallow exhales, his heart pounding loudly in his ears.

Thomas’ hands moved towards the waistband of his jeans again, this time actually latching themselves on the belt, unlooping it with precise motions. Newt swore under his breath and nearly bit his tongue, his whole body shaking with anticipation. Thomas’ face was a concentrated mask, his eyebrows furrowed, watching his work on Newt’s belt intently, till the offensive strip eased off and slid from its place like a snake. The quick work on the button and the zipper was nearly out of Newt’s line of vision, and then Thomas was dragging his pants lower, revealing boxers with a very noticeable bulge. The editor shut his eyes tight when Thomas’ fingers hooked the waistband and deliberately dragged it down too.

“How lewd,” he heard Thomas’ voice though the haze of the constant ringing in his ears, of the blood pumping wildly. He was so hard it hurt and he held himself only by sheer will from bucking up to find the needed friction. He cracked one eye to look again, only to see Thomas licking his lips and then curling his fingers around Newt, stroking up and down, before experimentally licking the head, apparently deciding he liked the taste and swallowing him up.

“Ffffuuuuuuuck.”

A pleased hum around him nearly threw him over the edge, and he had to hold himself to not buck up into the welcoming heat and choke Thomas to death. It had been so long since his last blow job, and for some reason none of his previous experiences could compete with this. Thomas just exactly knew what to do, where to put the right pressure, when to swirl his tongue or suck intensely and when Newt made the mistake and actually _looked_ , the sheer sexiness of watching this man doing lewd things to him finished the job in seconds. All he could do was clench his hand in Thomas’ hair, his broken cries filling the room, not able to actually _warn_ him, and then an explosive pleasure wrecked his body like an electric bolt, his mind turning blissfully blank and overloaded by pure delight. In a corner of his consciousness he knew he had to apologize, but when he finally got his perception back, he felt Thomas lapping every drop away like a cat given a treat, and it successfully blocked his guilty feeling away. He threw his head back, exhaling shakily, his legs quivering.

“All good?” he heard the writer ask, but found out his throat refused to let out a single syllable, so he nodded instead. “You sure?”

He nodded once more, dragging himself up. Thomas sat in front of him, his hair wild and lips red and Newt felt a flush creeping up on him with vengeance.

“Guess here the _wait for it_ got the right form, eh?” he joked lamely, his voice hoarse, and Thomas chuckled, his shoulders losing the sudden tenseness. He leaned over Newt again, nuzzling into his neck affectionately.

“I seriously can’t get enough of you,” he murmured quietly. “Just want more and more and _more_.”

Newt had to stop the moan fighting its way up his throat and his hands immediately shot up, running through Thomas’ hair and the nape of his neck, dragging slowly down along his spine.

“You can have all you want,” he whispered back, kissing Thomas head. “Everything you need.”

“Yeah?” the writer smiled against the skin, pressing a light kiss there. “But I am insatiable. You may regret it.”

“I doubt it.”

He felt how Thomas moved them further into the lying position, but didn’t fight it. Once he ended up sprawled on his back again with Thomas above him, he smiled lazily and trailed his fingers teasingly down his chest, onto the waistband, dragging it down slowly.

“Let’s take it up a notch, shall we, Tommy?” he suggested bewitchingly, leaving his other hand resting on the crook of Thomas’ neck, caressing him lightly. He absolutely adored the whimper that came from the writer at that, grinning wickedly.

“You’ll be the death of me, Newt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so, so, so, so much for the amazing beta misssushicat!!! <3 (And keeping the decorum while editing this, lololol, you are the best! <3)
> 
> Aaaaaaaah. I am so sorry for this one. It's a shameless smut from the beginning to the end QQ If anyone was asking for me, I am in a hole I dug, hiding in shame, no need to send for help QQ
> 
> Thank you so much for your comments!!! I can't even express how happy I am for each and single one, it just totally makes my day! <3  
> Feedbacks are super apprecited and loved and hugged and made love to! <3  
> Thank you for reading <3


	22. A Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s already morning?” Thomas’ voice rumbled so deep he could feel the vibrations against his back.   
> “AC/DC said it is,” Newt confirmed with a chuckle, sighing when he felt Thomas nuzzling his neck.   
> “Stay in today,” another rumble and Newt wriggled experimentally, immediately noting the morning wood that poked him from behind, followed by a low hiss from the owner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated M, sorry! QQ My pervy brain just can't get enough :(

Newt always thought breathing was overrated. Who needed to breathe while you got kissed as if the world was ending? Who needed to actually stay sane while being thrust into and _devoured_ at the same time? Everything Newt needed was to hold on – to probably leave scratch marks and bites all over Thomas’ body, to moan when the angle got just _bloody perfect_ and to gasp when Thomas suddenly stopped and pulled Newt up from the lying position to a sitting one. The blonde’s legs locked firmly around Thomas’ hips while Thomas was kissing him deeply and hungrily, murmuring filthy things into Newt’s ear and biting his neck, and Newt thought this was it. This was how he probably was going to die, absolutely blissed out and sweaty, being filled up and maybe a little in pain, but the good kind, the one that made you feel alive. And his neck and shoulders stung from all the bites Thomas marked him with, and his lips felt super sensitive from all the kissing, but neither of those things stopped him from wanting more.

Thomas was demanding and utterly dominant. He didn’t leave a single opportunity for Newt to take over, and such oppression should have bothered the blond. But it bloody didn’t and he didn’t even know _why_ , but it just felt _right_ and he went with the flow. Everything was burning - his skin, the tongue battling with his, hands mapping and scraping all over his body, the whole joining they reached and kept at it for what, minutes? Hours? He didn’t even know, time lost its meaning.

Thomas moved him again, flipping him over on all four and all Newt could do was to whimper and bury his face into the messy covers. His body was getting tired, he could feel the strain, but the ache was pleasant and welcomed. Thomas had a sure, firm grip on his waist and he could feel how his other hand was slowly sliding further, towards his shoulder, grasping him tightly. He was pulling him upright, but Newt refused to move, groaning into the sheets with each thrust instead, gripping the fabric as if it was the only thing that bounded him to reality.

He felt a kiss on his left shoulder blade, then right between them, and the hand that held his shoulder suddenly disappeared. In a matter of seconds Thomas’ fingers ran through Newt’s wet hair and then a sudden grip yanked his head back. A grunt escaped Newt’s lips. A whole new experience of someone being so forceful with him made his body shiver and he moaned loudly when Thomas latched himself at the crook of his neck, sucking and biting at the spot, while his hips picked up a faster pace.

There was no way he was going to last any longer, and his pleasure hazed mind helpfully (and probably also with an unmerciful taunt invested in it) supplied he was going to come bloody untouched with only Thomas dutifully marking him, but absolutely ignoring the raging hard-on in between his legs. His hands skimmed close many, many times, making Newt mewl and whimper under the touches, but he never actually connected and it was driving the blond crazy. And now, because he wasn’t embarrassed enough by all the noises he was making during the love making, he was going to finish without a single touch where it mattered, just because it was _Thomas_ , and it felt so _good_.

His body tensed suddenly and Thomas slammed in harder, hitting the precise spot where everything went white and the ringing noise filled Newt’s ears like a siren. His whole frame shuddered and he gasped Thomas’ name in a broken voice, the exceeding pleasure filling his mind like a tidal wave, sweeping everything else into the oblivion. He barely noticed the stutter of Thomas’ hips and his name repeated like a mantra before everything went dark and quiet.

***

“You fainted?!”

“Try to shout louder, I think the Chief didn’t heard you in his office,” Newt hissed with a deadly glare and Alby cleared his throat apologetically.

“You fainted?” he asked again in a much lower voice and Newt already regretted telling him about it. His whole body ached at any position he tried to settle at – sitting? No thanks. Standing? God, his back was killing him. Dealing with the overheated room and still keeping the scarf on his neck? Necessity, thank you very much, since Thomas should be known as a leech and not a person.

And yet he couldn’t deny yesterday night made him live through the best sex he ever had. No exaggeration, no pampering. It was amazing and also a little scary for how good it felt and how okay Newt was with all the proceedings – Thomas was undoubtedly an _alpha male_ , an unwavering authority that ruled the whole thing; leading Newt from the first kiss to the last moment before the blond lamely lost his consciousness during his climax, which never happened before. And hell if it hadn’t made him feel like an idiot when he came back from the darkness! Thomas stared at him with wide eyes, breathless and apparently horrified he messed up and hurt him, and with Newt’s disorientation about what just happened it all fell into chaos. Thomas panicked. His expression was so desperate Newt wanted to cry and laugh at the same time and couldn’t pick which outcome would be the best. It took him roughly 10 minutes to make Thomas calm back down and assure him nothing happened, that his mind probably just got overloaded by too many sensations at once. He even had to drag Thomas back to the bed when the writer wanted to run to call an ambulance or something, and Newt almost crashed to the ground at the attempt since his legs weren’t able to hold him up. It only fuelled the brunet’s fear he horribly overstepped his boundaries and another 10 minutes fell on coaxing him he definitely _didn’t._

But Newt refused to give Alby the details. He knew the most important and also the most embarrassing bit and Newt wondered why he even told him in the first place (well, that was a lie, Alby needed only one look towards Newt’s direction when the blond came to work late and his face immediately showed he _knew_. The stupid grin played on his lips like a big neon sign saying: I KNOW YOU DID IT! And Newt’s refusal to take off his/Thomas’ scarf only confirmed it).

“God, how did _that_ happened? You okay? Did he hurt you?” the mother hen tone made Newt roll his eyes and he sent Alby a look that said _are you an idiot_ without using words.

“Do I look like someone who is complaining about the treatment?” he grumbled, filing his mug with water, picking the coffee path for today again. “You sound like him. He didn’t hurt me and yes, I’m bloody okay.”

“One would say you should be much happier since you _finally_ got laid,” a female’s voice stunned him into the silence and he didn’t even need to turn around to know Teresa entered the kitchen and apparently overheard the conversation.

He chose to stay quiet, not really in the mood to start a fight, and saw by the corner of his eye how Teresa picked the kettle he emptied just a moment before, and filled it with water.

“I guess congratulations are in order,” she added, stopping right next to him, and he had to look at her now to escape being considered an insensitive prick. “Was it at least worth it?”

“Look, if you are trying to pick a fight-,” he started with a stormy expression and she smirked, taking all the words from his mouth immediately.

“Well, now you don’t need to be so _worried_ I’m going to _affect_ him by my _drooling_ after him, right?” she said sweetly, picking her mug from the shelf and filling it with coffee. The implication of what he told her at the lunch hit him precisely where it should have, and the guilty feeling kept his mouth firmly shut. “Since you just had your _happy hour_.”

“Teresa,” Alby called her warningly and she only shrugged, tapping her fingers against the counter.

“I think I have the right to nag him about that nasty speech he had in the restaurant,” she uttered. “It was pretty low by the way. I was only trying to help you.”

“I’m not going to discuss it anymore,” he refused the challenge with a frown, taking his mug carefully. He had a thousand words to tell her, accusations, maybe even apologies, but he just knew opening the topic would only make them quarrel further. Not to mention he felt that even if he did back up and said he was sorry (at least he was pretty sure she expected it, and he admitted she had a reason), it would still feel weird and awkward anyway.

“Of course,” she replied coldly. “After all, there is _nothing_ to discuss, is there?”

“Not really,” he said as calmly as he could. “I’m still his editor.”

“I know,” she nodded curtly and the kettle finished boiling the water, sending her a sign she could finish the coffee. She quietly filled her mug and left the kitchen with a sway of her long, black hair.

Newt took a deep breath and rummaged through the cabinet for sugar, while Alby gave him an accusing look. He tried to ignore him, but it had almost a physical power and Newt pinched the bridge of his nose and looked at the man with exasperation.

“Stop it,” he countered the silent treatment. “You don’t know the full story. Don’t judge.”

“Not judging,” Alby shrugged, but his expression stayed. “I just think even without the full picture you two have some sort of issue to deal with.”

“Not saying the opposite,” Newt mumbled.

“But she had a point,” his colleague pointed out, his face clearing a little. “You do seem grumpy for someone who just got laid.”

“That’s how I express happiness,” Newt opposed with a smirk and left Alby as well, nursing his coffee all the way to his table.

***

_The loud shriek pierced the blissed silence and an aggressive guitar riff jerked Newt away like a hit from a hammer. A beginning of Highway to Hell elicited a loud groan from him and he blindly reached for his phone at the direction it was coming from and somehow managed to shut the damn thing up._

_The room fell into silence once more until he heard a yawn behind him and arms around his torso tightened possessively, hugging him close._

_“It’s already morning?” Thomas’ voice rumbled so deep he could feel the vibrations against his back._

_“AC/DC said it is,” Newt confirmed with a chuckle, sighing when he felt Thomas nuzzling his neck._

_“Stay in today,” another rumble and Newt wriggled experimentally, immediately noting the morning wood that poked him from behind, followed by a low hiss from the owner._

_“Sprightly, aren’t we,” he smirked knowingly, and gasped right after, when one of Thomas’ hands brushed against his own problem at the front._

_“Naaaailed it,” the writer laughed in his ear, kissing the pulsing point on his neck gently. “Staying in?”_

_“No,” the blond refused, batting his hand away._

_“You sure?” The hand found its way under Newt’s shirt, tracing the naked hipbones delicately._

_“Yes!” another smack and Thomas laughed again, finally releasing his hold and sitting up with another loud yawn._

_“How do you feel?”_

_The question made Newt cringe a little, after the fainting incident he just knew Thomas was going to pick on it soon enough._

_“Sleepy,” he replied instead, brushing the topic off and sitting up as well. He stuck his tongue out at the writer right the moment when he spotted his amused expression, looking at Newt’s bed hair, but he didn’t avoid the ruffling that made it even worse, relishing the touch._

_“Stay in,” Thomas repeated, now in almost a pleading tone, caressing his cheek gently. His fingers slowly trailed along Newt’s jaw and down his throat, over the collarbones, hooking against the shirt opening, and back up._

_“You’re not playing fair,” Newt accused him breathlessly (when did that happen? His heart was already beating wildly and his lungs couldn’t keep up) and Thomas’ eyes darkened._

_“Everything is allowed in a war,” the writer’s voice rattled. “Do you yield?”_

_“Am I your prisoner now?” Newt felt he should have made it lighter, maybe like a joke or something, but it came out hungrily instead, and it had an immediate effect on his partner. He never got out of his shirt so fast in his life._

“Earth to Newt!”

The blond jerked from the haze he fell in, startled, just to see Gally standing in front of his table with raised eyebrows, probably thinking something about a hearing aid.

“Man, have you been thinking about porn or what is that sick expression you have?” Gally snorted, putting a file on the desk in the meantime. “You look like shit by the way, take a day off, I feel bad just by looking at ya.”

“Thank you for the compliment,” Newt rolled his eyes and opened the file without interest. “And someone has to be a little filthy minded among all the pure virgins around here.”

The pointed look he earned from the editor was enough of a reward.

“Cheeky, aren’t we,” Gally commented with a smirk. “The Chief wanted to talk to you, but since you got lost in your _filthy mind_ he got fed up and sent you this instead.”

“What is it?” Newt finally focused on the text and his eyes widened. The date highlighted in red made him miss one beat.

“A deadline, blondie. You should whip Pretty face to work harder.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the awesome beta misssushicat! <3 As well as all your suggestions and point outs and all the mistakes correcting and... the other stuff pointed out (I swear, not on purpose, hun, aaah, poor Gally :D)
> 
> I know. Another smutty chapter. I'm sorry, I thought it's needed QQ With how suggestive Newt was before, haha. Also... plot twist, ha! :D
> 
> Thank you all for reading and commenting!!! Your comments made my day, as well as your support and also our hole of shame sharing! Thank you so much <3  
> Feedbacks are loved, hugged and made love to <3


	23. A Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Please, just listen,” the writer pleaded, his eyes desperate and fingers clutched him so tightly it started to hurt. “Brenda isn’t-,”  
> “She had my shirt,” Newt blurted out. It stuck in his mind like a nail in a wood, driven in too deep for any attempt to get it out.  
> “Yes, because she is an idiot and she keeps on stealing my shirts, because she knows it’s pissing me off-,”  
> “Thomas,” Newt said, looking him dead in the eye, his insides churning. “Who is she?”

Newt felt like in a haze all the way through the city. He barely registered the passing crowds, or the stairs he had to climb to get to Thomas’ apartment. The one red date rang in his head like an alarm and he was searching for the right words, the precise formulations how to get the gears moving without sounding desperate. Two weeks. The Chief must have gotten fed up with the waiting, and Newt was very well aware how those deadlines worked. There were no buts or maybes. Only the one, firmly set date and a guillotine dangling above their necks.

He woke up from the haze at the door when he pressed the ring bell with a deep sigh. He knew Thomas could write fast, so the worry didn’t strain him as much, but it still meant stress coming onto them, making it forced, and a dangerous possibility of affecting the book itself made him nervous.

A fast door opening got him back from the thoughts and his breath hitched at the sigh.

There stood the girl. Her hair was wet, her legs bare and she had _his own_ _shirt_ on her. He felt like the blood in him turned to ice and lungs stopped to function.

“Oh. It’s you,” she uttered, eyes narrowed and Newt just couldn’t find a suitable response for that. A girl. Half naked. In his shirt. With wet hair. In Thomas’ apartment.

_What. The. Hell?_

“Thomas?” he croaked, not able to form sentences and she sneered. It was an ugly, uncalled gesture, and felt like a stab into his chest, putting him in an idiotic movie about love triangles and bitchy female mistresses.

Or maybe he was the mistress?

_God, this is unreal!_

“He is in the shower,” she threw at him coldly. “Unavailable.”

He didn’t move. She sighed with a customary eye roll, opening her mouth to probably say something nasty, when a call of her name (a loud, accusing “Brenda!” sounded from the inside) made her flinch, and she turned towards the voice..

“What the fuck! Are you wearing! Fuck you, seriously, take it off or I will throw you out like an old rug, you idiot!”

Thomas’ voice. Newt felt his body tensing even further and his eyes couldn’t stop staring at the brown haired woman. She groaned as if it was a huge deal for her, stepping away from the door with an insulted expression.

“What’s wrong with the shirt, you jerk?” she grumbled at Thomas who was apparently approaching. “Like it’s a big deal for me to wear your shirts.”

“It’s not mine,” he heard Thomas growl, his voice nearer. “Now get it off or I swear I will do something nasty and you won’t fucking like it a bit.”

“Kinky,” she laughed, but only another growl came as a reply – something that also sounded from Newt at unison. In a matter of one more second Thomas finally appeared at the door, apparently not aware the entrance was open all this time, and blinked in confusion when he saw Newt standing in there.

“Well, fuck,” he said only and Newt felt his body moving by itself, turning around and leaving.

“Newt!” Thomas called after him, but it flew all over his head, his legs refusing to stop. He heard a loud bang, apparently how the door closed, and hasty steps following him, but didn’t turn around, only continued forward, down the stairs.

“Newt, please,” another plea and then a cold fingers curled around his wrist, stopping him. He felt a snarl forming on his lips, a sudden pang of betrayal wrecking his body like disease and then he was backed up the wall at the stairs with Thomas holding him there, looking at him like the world ended and he was the cause.

“Please, just listen,” the writer pleaded, his eyes desperate and fingers clutched him so tightly it started to hurt. “Brenda isn’t-,”

“She had my shirt,” Newt blurted out. It stuck in his mind like a nail in a wood, driven in too deep for any attempt to get it out.

“Yes, because she is an idiot and she keeps on stealing my shirts, because she knows it’s pissing me off-,”

“Thomas,” Newt said, looking him dead in the eye, his insides churning. “Who _is_ she?”

It was like from a soap opera, an accusatory “ _Who is that woman, Charles!”_ played in his mind like broken record, but here he was, still asking the question, demanding to know, an explanation, anything that could make him be at ease again.

Thomas froze like a deer in highlights, apparently very well aware the answer is going to have a huge impact, and his grip got even stronger, on a board of bruising. Newt didn’t react, his mind felt numb.

“A friend,” the writer answered. “She’s a good friend. I know her since college. She used to live with us in the apartment. She is an arti-.”

“A fuck buddy?” Newt echoed and Thomas’ eyes widened almost comically.

“No!” he refused immediately. “God, no no no, she is not, I swear, we don’t-,”

“This was the second time I saw her half naked at your place,” the blond added, staring at the man. “Telling me you’re sleeping or taking a shower or whatever. As if she just put you there.”

“No,” Thomas shook his head violently. “No, please, just listen. That’s… _no_.”

There was no doubt Thomas grew too desperate to keep calm, Newt could tell. He was livid, his body actually shivered and the grip he had on Newt’s shoulders now got painful. Newt hissed, but refrained from saying anything. Such strong reaction was something he never saw before and it successfully pulled him out from the shock he fell into after seeing the girl parading in the flat _he_ left this morning absolutely sated and sexed up, and bloody _happy_.

“Thomas,” he addressed him, noting how ragged the breathing of the writer had become. “ _Tommy_.”

A sudden movement he almost didn’t notice and the writer crushed him into a hug, holding him so firmly Newt wondered how he could hide such superman strength without making itself known in the past.

“Please don’t leave me,” Thomas whispered, no, _pleaded_ in a broken voice and Newt was struck speechless because of the rawness and vulnerability in the voice. “ _Please, please, please_.”

“I’m _not_ leaving you,” he assured him, his hands slowly reaching for the writer’s back, clutching at the shirt. “I just wanted to know-,”

“She’s a friend, only a friend, I swear, there’s _nothing…_ ” Thomas kept on babbling and Newt had to pull at the back of his head to get them a little further apart.

“Thomas!” his voice got more demanding, but the writer only shook his head and kept on assuring him until Newt lost his patience and flicked his forehead like he would do to a kid.

Thomas flinched and finally shut up, staring at the blond with heavy breathing, eyes still wide as saucers.

“You done now?” Newt rose an eyebrow and the grip loosened slowly, until Thomas let go completely, nodding in silence. His frame was still shivering slightly as if he couldn’t contain the nerves wrecking him so deeply, and Newt felt a surge of understanding. An insecurity and fear always ruled his life with intensity as well, and a state Thomas apparently was in perfectly mirrored him alone 7 years ago.

“She’s your friend,” Newt concluded simply and Thomas nodded again, his hands twitching at his sides hesitantly.

“Only your friend,” the blond added and this time the nod was fervent and insisting. “Alright.”

“Newt, please-,”

“Calm down,” Newt clutched his shoulders in return. “Get a grip, man.”

“Sorry,” the writer took a deep breath and leaned forward, resting his forehead against Newt’s. “Sorry. I panicked. Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Newt jabbed him to his stomach and sighed. “I swear I’m gonna have a heart attack because of you before I reach 30.”

Thomas made a disagreeing noise in the back of his throat and his hands slid back around Newt’s waist, pulling him close into a warm hug.

“She always appears without warning, I’d have told you otherwise,” he whispered into Newt’s ear apologetically. “I thought she’s gonna be gone by the time you come back, I didn’t expect…”

“Yeah, surprise,” Newt chuckled, little lamely. “I’m not here sooner because I got my panties in a twist though. We’ve a problem.”

“A problem?”

“*I* have a problem with you two dorks munching in a hallway and leaving the flat wide open,” a female’s voice interrupted the conversation like a hot arrow and Newt flinched, ready to jump away if Thomas would have let him. But the grip stayed strong and the writer only turned his head at the direction the voice came from, humming.

“How about you get the shirt off, jerkface,” he heard him grumble.

“God, why? Is it made of gold or what?”

Newt slowly turned his head to the right direction as well, seeing Brenda at the top of the stairs with her pants on (yay), but still in his shirt, her brown hair cascaded around her shoulders freely. She watched them suspiciously and then a revelation apparently dawned on her, because she rolled her eyes.

“It’s yours, huh,” she looked right at Newt, her voice annoyed. “That’s why he is so worked up, oh poor baby. I wore your boyfriend’s shirt, end of the world.”

“Shut up and go change,” Thomas barked and Newt had to stifle a laugh at the absurdity of the situation. He couldn’t get away from the hug without making a scene, so he stayed there, resting his head against Thomas shoulder and feeling his lips slowly widening in a smile.

She only groaned, but left the hallway anyway, leaving them alone once more. Newt wriggled a little, attempting to put some seriousness into this, and Thomas finally let him go, even that his face stayed somewhat tense and unsure.

“Not mad at me?” he asked Newt in a low voice and the blond made a thoughtful gesture, just to tease him a bit.

“Maybe a little,” he concluded, because hell, of course he was still a bit irked. That girl almost made him lose his shit when she appeared again. They needed to have a serious conversation about it.

“Sorry about the shirt,” Thomas mumbled. “I wouldn’t let her even touch it, she is too saucy.”

_Also rude, don’t forget rude._

Newt only nodded towards the flat, not really keen on answering that and Thomas understood. Before Newt could go back up, the writer took his hand, intertwining their fingers together and smiled hopefully. Newt scoffed at the cheesiness, but let him hold the hand anyway and it apparently was enough for the writer to be satisfied.

***

Brenda was an artist. She painted and sculptured, and apparently didn’t have her own place to crash at. She kept a night life on, slept during the day and occasionally crashed at Thomas’ place to wash her hair and do laundry. She slept where she could; with so many _friends_ as she called all the random people she met, it wasn’t hard to find a place to crash every day. She never slept at Thomas’ place though, at least Newt got assured about it, but occasionally bothered Minho, who, according to Thomas, hated her guts but let her stay anyway because she cooked. From what Newt gathered Brenda was a part of their college bunch, nickname “Mexican” (while Minho stayed “hermano”).

“It’s disgusting,” she commented, sipping tea from the dirty cup she apparently used before for coffee or something. They were sitting in the living room, Newt’s shirt was in the laundry once more and Brenda grudgingly took her own tank top. “It made him lose brain cells, maybe all of them, during this terrible relationship you have.”

Newt took a deep breath to say something, but Thomas squeezed his hand he resumed holding after making Newt tea, sitting next to him on a sofa’s armrest. Newt got warned to “Not take anything she says seriously” because “She does that on purpose. Pissing people off is her hobby and she analyses the behaviour patterns”. On top of that, Brenda was against any commitment, and the first thought coming to Newt’s mind was “ _no wonder, who would have the nerves for it_ ”.

“You are just jelly,” Thomas answered instead, sending her a cheeky smile and she smiled in return, only with an evil version.

“Definitely. Watching you go slowly mad and depressed every time this blondie do something stupid is just my idea of fun,” she put the cup on the table and started braiding her hair like Pocahontas, probably expecting a hummingbird or a racoon to appear and help her. “Seems very healthy as well for a person. Not eating, not sleeping, constantly afraid what he will do next-,”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Thomas cut her short with a frown. Newt went a little rigid at that, especially when the hold of Thomas’ hand tightened.

“As you wish,” she shrugged, throwing the braided hair over her shoulder. “But I’ve tried to warn you. Don’t crawl back once he dumps you and you won’t have a sharp enough knife to cut your wrists with.”

Thomas visibly paled and Newt felt sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetad so far, we are working on it! Sorry for the inconvenience of my mistakes QQ
> 
> Aaaaaaaaand we are back on a regular update :) Thank you so much for your patience and support!  
> This chapter is a bit angsty, but I am trying to get you to know Thomas a little better, as we as his surroundings :)  
> (Sorry for making Brenda so harsh QQ)
> 
> Feedbacks are loved! <3  
> Thank you so much for reading ^.^
> 
> EDIT: I am so sorry for the confusion about Brenda's hair! I have no idea why I kept on thinking she is also black haired? QQ I found out she has brown hair in the end, sorry for the confusion! It's been some time I read the books :( (Probably got confused by Rosa, who is going to play her in Scorch Trials, haha). Thank you so much for telling me mini_mew! <3


	24. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You couldn’t have messed up that bad,” Newt raised his head, looking right at Thomas with a soft smile. “You are still here.”  
> “That’s cuz of you,” Thomas retorted easily. His face stayed serious and Newt slowly touched his lips, earning a nibble in return.   
> “Because I’m so charming?” he smirked when Thomas chased his fingers teasingly.   
> “Yes, because you’re so charming."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tiny bit of M at the beginning. Fluff for the rest.

Newt’s mind was a mess. There was the nagging feeling he had to deal with something important, pulling at the edge of his consciousness, but the majority of his sex-hazed brain ignored it. He just couldn’t really think about anything else than Thomas on top of him, moaning into his mouth, filling him perfectly.

He knew it was bad. Thomas did it because he didn’t want to… he didn’t… what was it again?

Newt cried out at another thrust, his mind going blissfully blank, and Thomas swallowed his voice with one more lip lock, licking and biting, and Newt just couldn’t complain or try to stop him. This just got perfect and absolutely hot, and the writer was going to be the death of him for sure.

A tug and Newt found himself on top of Thomas, sitting on him like on a throne, his body curving like a bow when the pleasure hit him the deepest. Thomas fingers dug into his sides almost painfully, but it only fuelled the experience further and Newt leaned down, latching on Thomas’ throat, sucking demandingly to leave a mark everyone could see.

The writer’s face was a pure ecstasy and Newt couldn’t get enough of it. When a broken moan that had to be Newt’s name escaped his lips, the blond lost it and his body shook violently, sweeping him away on a wave of deafening bliss.

His lungs stopped working for a while, or at least he felt like it when he started gulping air back like crazy, gasping for it. His body felt heavy and sated and he dropped on Thomas like a lead, unable to support himself further.

“You didn’t faint this time,” he heard a chuckle that rumbled under his ear comfortably and smirked.

“Guess I was ready for it,” he said tiredly, kissing Thomas’ chest softly. “Or maybe you just held back.”

“Impossible, I always lose it in the first five seconds of watching you,” Thomas opposed and his hands slowly slid over Newt’s back to his waist, holding him there gently.

“Nice cover up though,” the blond admitted. It gradually came back to him - the reason why they ended up in the bedroom so abruptly after Brenda left (or better, after Thomas literally threw her out with rage that probably surprised even her at the moment). He wanted to know, tried to ask Thomas what did she mean with the knife reference, but once he opened his mouth with “What did she mean by-?” Thomas was on him in a second; kissing the air out of his lungs and lifting him up like if he weighted nothing, carrying him to the bedroom. Newt wanted to fight him over it, to demand the answer and not trying to avoid it with sex, but oh man, he was only a human and there was no possibility to ignore Thomas’ kisses and touches for long (or proximately 1 minute in his case).

“I try,” the writer admitted, kissing the top of his head affectionately.

“I still want to know,” Newt grumbled. He knew a post-coital bliss shouldn’t be ruined like that, but the reaction Brenda got from her monologue stuck in his mind like an ugly bug unable to be smashed. The first thing his brain connected to it was an attempted suicide and that wasn’t okay, not even a little. And he definitely needed to know – not because it pleased him, or because he was nosy. He needed to know to prevent any further attempts if something happened, to get Thomas’ mind out of the gutter, because sometimes it felt too intense. All of Thomas insecurity attacks, his pleas and inability to actually believe that the reality was good and safe, and that Newt wasn’t going to leave him because of something he said or did in the past. He _needed_ to know what brought him so close to the edge if Brenda’s talk hit close to home (and judging by the writer’s reaction it apparently did), and even that he _knew_ talking about such stuff was bad, and probably painful, he couldn’t leave it alone.

“Tommy,” he addressed him in a low voice. “Tell me.”

“There is nothing to tell,” Thomas opposed, but his voice was strained and Newt sighed.

“I’m not going to judge. Or leave. Or anything. I just need to know what happened,” he assured him, propping himself on the elbows above the man. Thomas’ face was closed off, but Newt was determined. “Did you want to kill yourself?”

“Sort of,” Thomas avoided his eyes, his hands on Newt’s back stilling their caressing movement. “But I was too much of a coward to actually do it.”

“Why did you want to?” Newt asked again, softly. He knew it counted as a huge deal, but opening up to someone helped – he knew from his own experience. Talking helped when the other person _listened_. Getting a pain out of the chest could prove lightening, and he wanted to help as much as he could, even if it meant to seem insensitive at the moment, forcing him to talk about the bad stuff.

“Life happened,” Thomas shrugged, looking somewhere at the other side of the room, his lips a thin line. “I just couldn’t deal.”

“I used to date a writer few years ago,” Newt said suddenly. His throat was tight, but he forced the words out anyway. “My client actually. She was awesome. Her writing was neat and sort of flowed as it should have, and I thought she is just the most perfect being in the world.”

He felt Thomas tensing under him, his face cringing a little.

“We dated around half a year,” Newt continued, slowly tracing his fingers along Thomas collarbones. “She was a fresh author, it was her first book. A romance novel, not really my forte, but I wanted to help her and took it anyway. She was my third client from the moment I started to work in the office.”

“I see,” Thomas mumbled, his eyes skimming quickly to Newt’s face and away again, nervous.

“We got made fun of too, being a couple that didn’t try and hide it they kept on insisting we are already married and all. I guess it was pretty mushy at that time, and cheesy. Flowers and dinners and romantic gestures, I’m not very big on that. But hell, I was so into her I just thought it was all cool and actually enjoyed getting her gits and… you know. Being a big sap.”

Thomas hummed and his nails scraped Newt’s tender skin at his hips. Apparently an unconscious gesture.

“As the time went on, her book continued, I edited it in my free time – which wasn’t very often, since I was so taken with her and wanted to spend as much time with her as possible,” Newt added. “It was all fine. But then I handed in the manuscript to the Chief and got called out on it. It was a disaster – I left all the stylistic mistakes in it, something she did unconsciously when writing that I got used to it. She talked that way too, it felt natural for me. So I left it there, even that I used to edit such stuff. But the longer I knew her the worse I did on the edits. The Chief gave me the talk, a super unpleasant and threatening one on top of it. The whole book had to be re-edited, 650 pages of romance shit, by someone else. It took twice of the time.”

Thomas looked back at him, his eyes wide.

“It was that bad?” he whispered and Newt nodded quietly, contemplating how to explain.

“I messed up too much. I left too many mistakes because it was _her_ style. But it was a wrong one, bad words, bad phrases, in whole it sounded like looking into a cracked mirror,” he tried to describe it thoughtfully. “The delay was huge. The Chief was angry with me. She was furious. And we broke up.”

“Because of that?” Thomas blinked and then frowned, disagreeing.

“She was very ambitious and wanted to publish as soon as possible. I took twice of the time from her, not to mention getting her in a bad situation with the publisher itself,” Newt mumbled. “So yeah. Because of that. Not to mention I got stressed about it, the Chief wanted to have my head on a platter, and her insisting and demands were too high over my head, so I got snappy as well.”

Thomas growled in his chest, a dissatisfied sound.

“Did she publish it in the end?” he asked, but the voice was tinted with anger.

“Yeah,” Newt confirmed it. “Two months later than scheduled. But she did.”

“Success?”

“Not really,” the blond shrugged. “The book was just an ordinary romance novel, nothing original either. Looking at it now I’m surprised it even got the green for the publishing process for how cheesy it was.”

“And you never got to get back together again?” another question and Newt could swear he heard a strange hopefulness in the writer’s voice.

“Nah,” he shook his head. “But I took it bad that time.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” Newt laid his head back on Thomas’ chest, listening to the heartbeat calmly. “Depression and all that shit was pretty normal occurrence. Not to mention I almost lost my job. The Chief neglected me for pretty long and it just fuelled my self-loathing to the max. I messed up. I let down the author, my boss and also put loads of work to another editor who had a terrible deadline for it. I had lots of dark thoughts that time too. And on top of that I had a broken heart, for how stupid it sounds. I was pining and she didn’t care.”

A sudden hug crushed him against Thomas as if he just got hold in a clamp he almost couldn’t breathe like that.

“I’m never, ever, going to treat you like this, I swear, I’ll keep you safe and _happy_ ,” he heard the writer mutter into his hair and it made him smile.

“I know,” he whispered back, squeezing the man in his arms in return. “Just want you to know that I’m aware life is not just rainbows and sunshine. And it’s okay to get scared of it as long as you have people that drag you back and help you to stand on your own feet again.”

“Yeah…” Thomas sighed. “I’m sorry for Brenda though. She can get bitchy.”

“She is just worried about you,” Newt opposed lightly. “In a… strange way.”

“Probably,” Thomas grumbled.

“Did you notice all of your friends are trying to protect you? All mine are trying to set me up. Where is the difference I wonder?” Newt chuckled, finally able to breathe again when Thomas eased up his grip, letting him move freely once more.

“Guess you are more stable and able to take care of yourself than me,” the writer replied a little darkly. “All I did was making them worried how I’m gonna mess up next.”

“You couldn’t have messed up that bad,” Newt raised his head, looking right at Thomas with a soft smile. “You are still here.”

“That’s cuz of you,” Thomas retorted easily. His face stayed serious and Newt slowly touched his lips, earning a nibble in return.

“Because I’m so charming?” he smirked when Thomas chased his fingers teasingly.

“Yes, because you’re so charming,” he said simply. “From the first moment at the bus stop… I mean. I don’t want to sound creepy again, but…”

“Do tell,” Newt nudged him and started pulling at his messy hair, sinking his fingers through it, dragging his nails over the scalp. Thomas hummed in appreciation and dragged his on fingers along Newt’s spine in return.

“I had a bad day,” Thomas mumbled. “Very bad day. The writing went bad, that Gally guy got fed up, I lost my motivation and just couldn’t cope with his demands. It felt like the world is crumbling again and I wanted to get out, breathe some air, and preferably stay out forever. But then I got to that bus station and there you were, shivering like a puppy.”

“Hey!”

“Trust me, it fits. All tall and proud and cloaked in that long coat, you just looked amazing and sort of mysterious how concentrated your expression was, and then your neck was all bare and long and I couldn’t take my eyes of you,” Thomas stopped to take a deep breath and cleared his throat awkwardly when Newt raised an eyebrow. “Sorry. Just… I understand you don’t really get it, but only seeing you had a huge impact on me. For some reason, you were perfect and the story suddenly came alive with you in it, a strong lead. And I wanted to do something for you in return, even that you didn’t know how much you helped me, so I gave you the scarf.”

“And I thought you were a weirdo,” Newt added with a snort. “Giving a scarf to a complete stranger.”

“You were _cold_.”

“Yeah, freezing,” the blond admitted, tracing Thomas’ eyebrows now.

“See, so it helped,” the writer smiled happily and Newt nodded, his own lips curving upwards. “Minho thought I was on drugs when I came back. You should have seen him. Totally livid, scolding me like a kid for messing with that stuff, taking my obsessions up a notch.”

“He mentioned,” Newt remembered the conversation in the ramen shop vividly.

“He is a blabbermouth, of course he did,” the writer sighed, pulling Newt closer and nuzzling his neck, successfully blocking him from further touches. “But then you came as a new editor and I just couldn’t contain myself. It was like… I don’t know.”

“A fate you said,” Newt reminded him helpfully and earned a nip at his collarbone.

“Fate sounds about right. My saviour.”

“Sappy,” Newt chuckled and Thomas raised his head again, brushing his lips over Newt’s.

“In love,” he corrected him softly and Newt felt warmth spreading through his whole body at that.

“Yeah. In love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetad so far, we are working on it! Sorry for the inconvenience and my mistakes QQ
> 
> This is probably a bit too fluffy, but also kinda dialogue-ish, so nothing much happens. But! At least Newt opened up, so now you know the full story :)  
> This looks like the end, maybe? Right? Riiiiiiiiiight.
> 
> Feedback are loved <3  
> Thank you so, so, so, so much for reading this far and all, commenting and supporting me, this means so much to me I can't even express it properly! <3 Ily all <3


	25. Sushi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He can whip me as well,” Thomas replied with a smug smile and Newt rolled his eyes. What a mature boyfriend he got.  
> “I meant to something else than just playing his bongos,” Minho snorted and Newt couldn’t stop the groan that accompanied it.

“Because cooking is boring,” Minho said resolutely, stuffing his mouth with a piece of sushi and Newt gave him an exasperated look. At least the Asian actually kept his mouth shut until he was done chewing, raising his finger warningly that he still wanted to say something.

Thomas sighed next to the blond while he checked his phone and hid it back to his pocket. He pulled Newt closer to his side, rubbing lazy circles on his hip and Newt relaxed into his frame immediately.

When he got a text from Minho before today’s noon (and wondered for several minutes how that guy even _got_ his phone number – he blamed Thomas for it, or his inability to keep his phone away from Minho’s grabby hands) about lunch at some Japanese restaurant (seriously? Was he doing that on purpose?), he got a little hesitant. It took him apparently too long to respond, because Minho called 1 minute later, asking again, and also adding Thomas is tagging along, so there was no need to get “his panties in a twist”.

And so they ended up here (Newt seriously had to buy Alby a food basket later for neglecting him so badly over the course of this week), eating raw fish. Newt didn’t complain, sushi was edible, his boyfriend was hot and cuddly and Minho’s smirks couldn’t bother him in the slightest.

“So, yeah, boring. Why should I learn to cook when others can do it for me?” Minho finally gulped down the rest of his food, finishing the thought.

“And that’s why you’ve stayed _hermano_ ,” Newt chimed and Thomas’ jaw dropped before he barked a laugh.

“Wha- how?” Minho shot an accusatory glare towards Thomas and the writer hiccupped with laughter, caressing Newt’s back approvingly.

“You remember,” he commented happily. “Good job.”

“How mean, spilling the secrets!” Minho pouted, glaring at both of them. It looked ridiculous on him and Newt had to stifle a laugh.

“You are the one to talk,” Thomas shot him down with a smirk, handing Newt a plate with food. “Mr. Big Mouth.”

“Rude,” Minho said with a faked anger and rather stuffed his mouth with another piece of sushi.

“Any news on the deadline thing?” Thomas decided to ignore the man and glanced back at Newt instead, his hand returning to the blonde’s hip.

“Of course,” Newt replied sarcastically. “You are _one day shorter_ of it.”

“Eeeh, now who is mean,” the writer whined, tickling Newt’s side as a revenge and the blond stomped his foot under the table, making him yelp.

“Don’t make me start with the evil editor game with you. You should be writing your ass off right now, not eating sushi,” Newt pointed at him warningly and quickly took his hand back when Thomas snapped at it teasingly.

“Sounds kinky,” the writer chuckled, nuzzling his neck against Newt’s protests.

“Ohohoho, so he got a deadline now?” Minho joined the conversation again, grinning happily. “That’s good! Will keep him in shape.”

“He’s lazy,” Newt opposed, pulling lightly at Thomas hair to make him pay attention. “He has a month left and look at him.”

“You turned him into a dog, yeah,” Minho nodded thoughtfully, earning a growl from Thomas, successfully confirming the parable. “But dogs can be trained.”

“You need _time_ for that,” Newt quickly shot back, ignoring a sudden kiss that landed on his neck, followed by a nibble. “And _time_ is precisely what we don’t have.”

“Well, I heard you can’t teach an old dog any new tricks as well,” the Asian mused. “So I guess it doesn’t matter in the end.”

“I’m not old,” Thomas finally left Newt’s neck alone, sending Minho an annoyed look.

“Well, you are certainly not a puppy either,” his friend shrugged and yelped too, probably because he got kicked under the table. “Oh man, I think you should really get that hottie editor, I’m sure she would whip you to work.”

“He can whip me as well,” Thomas replied with a smug smile and Newt rolled his eyes. What a mature boyfriend he got.

“I meant to something else than just playing his bongos,” Minho snorted and Newt couldn’t stop the groan that accompanied it.

“Is the hottie prettier than Brenda, by the way?” Minho changed the topic suddenly, waggling his eyebrows at Thomas suggestively and Newt scoffed.

“Yes, she is,” he said briskly and Minho laughed.

“Cool, cuz- wait, what?” he stopped in his tracks in confusion, eying Newt suspiciously. “How do _you_ know how Brenda looks like?”

“An unfortunate coincidence,” the blond mumbled and felt how Thomas’ grip on him got tighter.

“Ow,” Minho took a deep breath, apparently taken back. “Meeting exes so soon, that’s a nasty thing.”

“Minho!” Thomas growled, but it was already too late and Newt felt his body turning into a stone.

“An ex, huh,” he commented sternly, looking at his partner with a blank expression. Thomas looked back at him apologetically and there was fear in his eyes too.

“Oh crap,” he heard Minho mumbling. “Sorry. Thought since he met her… you know.”

“We are not together since college, I swear,” Thomas ignored him, turning fully towards the blond. “And there is _nothing_ going on with her-,”

“Alright,” Newt only nodded. It was strange, but he it didn’t bother him at all, and he thought it should have, at least a little. That girl was in his apartment pretty often, borrowing his shirts and promenading half naked (or maybe full naked at times?) as if she owned the place, and he _let her_. It should be something that would make his blood boil normally, but nothing came.

Thomas said there is nothing.

Newt couldn’t help himself. He bloody believed to every word.

***

“You’re mad at me.”

“I’m not,” Newt said, probably for a thousandth time already, frowning at the text that jumped in front of his eyes mischievously.

“I can see you are,” Thomas opposed again and Newt gave up the reading entirely, turning to the writer who was perching on his table like a bat. He had been there for at least half an hour already, accompanying him from the restaurant and refusing to go back home alone. So now he had the writer sitting on his desk with a super worried expression and his colleagues kept on tiptoeing around as if they had a lot of work, but listened instead, trying to look busy with reading a two sentences long paragraph for ten minutes.

“Thomas, I’m not mad at you,” Newt sighed, tired. “You did nothing wrong, so please.”

“I should’ve told you,” Thomas insisted stubbornly as if he couldn’t get past the fact. “I thought it’s not relevant already, but I should’ve-,”

“Yeah, you should have, but now I know, so calm down,” he assured him with forced restraint, closing the document without a sideway glance.

“Come to my place today?” a sudden request made him blink in confusion before he felt a gentle touch on his cheek with Thomas leaning closer to him.

“I don’t have any-,”

“C’mon,” the writer smiled gently at him. “Clothes are not the problem.”

“For you, maybe,” Newt flicked his forehead and Thomas squeaked in surprise, straightening back up. “But it’s me who has to _work_ in it and fail.”

“Mmmm, cuz it reminds you of me?” the sultry voice was back and Newt send him a death glare – without a successful result. Thomas kept the smug smile and Newt wanted to kiss it off. Which was a bad idea, since he was still at work, surrounded by too many eyes and various levels of gossiping. And he knew they were _eager_ to see something.

“Yes, big boy, cuz it reminds me of you,” he replied anyway with a cheeky smile and that made Thomas’ eyes darken a little – a sight Newt loved to bits.

“Well, hello,” a female voice both jerked them away from the trance and Newt swore a little in his mind when he saw Teresa standing at his table, looking at Thomas. He basically missed her the whole day, thought she is sick or something, but there she stood, actually smiling at the writer. And he smiled back, calling her by her name nicely, like two friends coming back together.

Newt huffed at his own thoughts angrily – he wasn’t that bad with Brenda around, and she was Thomas’ half naked ex, and not fully clothed Teresa at his table.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” she said languidly, perfectly ignoring Newt’s presence. She was really good at it, he had to admit.

“Yeah, sorry,” Thomas gave her another smile. “We should go for lunch someday or coffee.”

“Sounds good,” she nodded with a pleased expression and Newt had to bite his cheek from saying something bitter he would regret after.

“You should be a little more considerate to your boyfriend though,” she suddenly glanced at the blond as if she just realized he is also there. “His neck was a disaster yesterday.”

“Mhmm,” Thomas smirked, apparently not sorry at all. “I can get a little territorial, it’s a must.”

“Oh that I can imagine,” she winked at him and Newt couldn’t hold the groan any longer, banging his head against his table.

“I see jealousy issues are still on,” she commented from somewhere above him and Thomas chuckled.

“That goes both ways,” he said simply and Newt wanted to cry.

***

Newt could easily imagine living with Thomas. For how he kept on the angry attitude towards Alby’s foolish decisions in the past, he found out in the love haze he was exactly the same idiot.

But it still felt nice, coming home with Thomas hand to hand (yes, hand to hand, Thomas was grabby and Newt cold, holding his hand felt natural and he didn’t give two shits about people staring, he only greeted them with the _Yes, that’s my boyfriend, deal with it_ look and continued on). Coming _home_ with him was like he _belonged_ there, putting his coat at the right place, his shoes at the mat precisely next to Thomas’, sitting at the couch at _his_ spot in the corner, under the lamp, drinking hot tea from one of the mugs Thomas got them (they were awesome. Black and white mugs, one had a devil wing and one an angel one. Thomas insisted for Newt to take the angel and accompanied it with an explanation worth an Oscar and the red library both, which made Newt to shut him up with a kiss (shut him up mainly, but he got also too worked up over what he said about him, that it also was a bit of a response).

Thomas treated him like something precious and sometimes it felt overwhelming with its sweetness. Unreal and out of today’s age with how caring this man got. Newt couldn’t believe how someone could actually hurt this being; it just didn’t make any sense to him.

Of course, nothing was perfect. Thomas was sometimes too clingy, too unsure, too insecure. He tended to ramble when nervous and he held on Newt during the night as if he was a teddy bear, making it impossible to get up to go to pee at least. He was possessive and overly dominant in bed, he tended to hold him down too strongly and leave huge amounts of hickeys just to show to the rest of the world that Newt is his. He needed to be assured he was not going to be left behind on daily basis, something that made Newt terribly sad when he thought about it more. Why would he be so afraid? What happened to make him that way? Why couldn’t he believe nice things could happen even to him?

But newt decided not to press the issue. _Life happened_ was vague and dissatisfying answer, but he respected it and knew Thomas would tell him when he is ready. And that was enough for him.

“It’s pretty late, don’t you want to go to sleep?” Thomas interrupted him from his thoughts that kept on passing his skull instead of paying attention to the text he was editing on his laptop. They were sitting on the couch, Newt in his corner and Thomas pressed against his side, dragging fingers through his hair while watching something on TV until now.

Newt glanced at the clock and sighed. It was past eleven, but his body refused the sleep profoundly and he could feel the old intensity that kept him from the sleep. Thomas looked already a little woozy, his eyes half lidded and smile lazy.

“I’ll work a bit more,” the blond replied lightly. “The more work I do today, the less I need to do tomorrow.”

“Not sleepy at all?” the writer’s expression changed to worried one and Newt quickly pecked him on the lips, calming him down.

“Not that much, I will just go later.”

“Alright,” Thomas nodded slowly and wriggled a little, making himself more comfortable while pressing against Newt side a little more, but carefully.

“You should go to bed though,” Newt added when he was sure Thomas didn’t want to leave. “Sleeping here won’t be very comfortable.”

“Not sleeping,” the writer mumbled. “Keeping you company.”

“You really don’t need to-,”

“How about I sit behind you?” Thomas suddenly suggested, perking up. “So I can see what you‘re doing?”

Newt stared at him for a second, not really getting the reason, but his mind was already half functioning, so he wasn’t even surprised when his body actually moved to make a free space for Thomas to slide into, and then pressing back again, against the writer’s chest, letting him to wrap his arms around him.

“Mmm, this is a lot better,” Thomas hummed happily, nosing Newt’s hair like a puppy. The blond felt his body relaxing and after a while he sat languidly sprawled in the embrace, his head propped over Thomas’ shoulder, slowly reading through the text.

He stopped mid-sentence, noting a strangely placed word and returned to it, highlighting it. When his fingers hovered above the keyboard, his right hand got suddenly covered by Thomas’, gently caressing his fingers and knuckles.

“Hmm?” he turned his head a little to see the writer’s face and the hand jerked away.

“Sorry,” Thomas mumbled. “I got carried away.”

Newt chuckled, patting his cheek blindly and resumed his work with a dumb smile on his face. It took several more words for Thomas’ hand to reappear, touching again, mapping the curves.

“Tommy,” Newt sighed, watching the hand in motion. “You either let me work or go to sleep.”

A groan sounded from behind him, but the touches subsided and he felt both of the writer’s arms got a hold of his waist instead.

“Newt?” the voice sounded after several more minutes and the editor hummed in response. “Tell me?”

Newt stopped his work immediately, raising his head up. A strange hotness crept to his chest, a heart started to beat wild. It was like fear and dread, but also anticipation and need and happiness. He was never the sappy type. All his big, romantic gestures died few years ago. But this was something else. It warmed him up, made him feel sated and wanting, content with little things. Honest hugs, affectionate kisses, warm cuddles He never thought such thing is going to happen to him, not like this. But here it was. With this man, in this very room, he felt _happy_ and wanted _more_.

It took only one deep breath and all of his courage, but he always considered himself a honest person. Lying to anyone had no point. So he spoke only the truth.

“I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetad so far, we are working on it! Sorry for the inconvenience QQ
> 
> This chapter is sort of a conclussion of this whole piece. It's prolly getting a epilogue, but I think this is it. I know not everything got resolved, but making it even longer seemed bad. More one shots may come though :) If you have any wishes or anything you want to know or read about this exact piece, be sure to tell me and I will make a one shot for you :)
> 
> For reference, those are the mugs they have: http://www.beautifullife.info/wp-content/uploads/2009/11/08/24.jpg
> 
> Thank you all for reading and commenting all this ride! Ily, you gave me strenght to continue <3  
> Feedbacks are loved! <3


	26. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I wanted to give up. But then I met a very special person and he gave me all the strength I needed. He made the book alive, he embodied the main character and he gave him a form. The book wouldn’t be done without him. I wouldn’t be here without him. So if you think the book is good… which thank you by the way, the last weeks of writing were hard and I got whipped for taking a single break-,”  
> “Lieeees!” Newt heard Minho shout from the other side of the room and the crowd laughed. Thomas chuckled at it, searching the crowd until he settled on Newt and smiled warmly.   
> “So if you think the book is good, you have to turn to that guy and thank him, because he made it happen.”

Newt was grateful. He couldn’t thank Minho in his mind enough for keeping him company so reliably how he did today, even dragging him away when someone caught the blond for another _talk_ about his _client_. Newt was out of words on that topic, everything that stayed untouched so far involved Thomas’ boyfriend qualities and Newt didn’t want to share those for sure. Telling anyone about Thomas’ skilled hands, talented mouth or enticing moans in bed were off anyone’s concern, and belonged to Newt alone.

So Minho stayed with him and played his bodyguard, because “ _that’s what friends do, bun_ ”, and kept him _safe_ before Thomas was actually available to resume his much better role than he had to play now.

The gallery was full to bursting, something Newt wasn’t very keen on. A weird-ass sculptures and paintings were hanging on the walls and Minho commented on each and every one in there. Soon most of the _art_ was renamed by him with “weird guy on a stick” or “stick on a weird guy” with “a weird stick _in_ a weird guy, my god, what was Brenda _thinking_ ”. Newt didn’t comment on it, the fact he felt like on an alien planet was enough for him.

It all started with Thomas _finally_ finishing his book. He actually made it with three days reserve that he spent on ravishing his editor instead of letting him do his work (which was maybe a little warranted, because Newt actually tried to use sex as a weapon against him to get Thomas off the thought of killing the main character. It didn’t work, but he still had an awesome evening and Thomas showed another unexpected side of him – easily seduced and distracted from something he was keen on finishing, no matter how hard he tried to resist. The beginning of the last paragraph was along the lines: _The blood spilled on the floor-- sdfjdfjdkgkdgl fuck this, seriously_ ).

After he presented the book to the Chief, and after Newt spent the whole time of the proof-reading nervously pacing or watching Cartoon Network, it got a green light and went to the publisher. Around the same time Brenda appeared in Thomas flat once more, encountering Newt at the door (he felt more satisfied than he should when she rang the bell and it was _him_ who opened – although sadly not only in a shirt), informing Thomas she is holding an exhibition and he is invited, as well as Minho and maybe also Newt, if he behaves (he sneered at her for that). And that’s how this idea got born – getting the exhibition and Thomas’ book publishing in one go.

So there they were, a crowd of people wondering what the hell are they looking at and then getting a little more sated with the book reading. Newt had a feeling Brenda must have been a little sick in her head for making that stuff, but he stayed quiet and actually let her circle around his boyfriend the whole evening. Thomas made several attempts to reach Newt during the ceremony, but ended up unsuccessful and probably a little frustrated because of it, but Newt believed the constant whirlwind of questions kept him busy enough.

“Time for you to introduce me,” Minho suddenly whispered to him, hinting somewhere behind them. Newt glanced back with raised eyebrows just to see Teresa and Alby talking in front of one of the most normal sculptures around (a simple female figure with a snake around her body), and he fidgeted a little.

“Don’t you have a mouth? Go talk to her by yourself,” he replied probably a little too obviously, because Minho smirked at him and pulled him towards the pair.

“Heeey, there is my man!” Alby immediately greeted them, taking Newt around his shoulders and shaking him happily. He probably drank a bit already, his enthusiasm reached some huge proportions. “Where did you leave your other half?”

“I got a new one,” Newt snorted, nodding towards Minho who just snatched another glass of something colourful from a passing waiter. “Minho, this is Alby and Teresa. You two, Minho.”

“You got another guy? Sheesh man, you’re insatiable,” Alby laughed, shaking Minho’s hand with a good-natured smile. “I saw you in the office once I think?”

“Yeah, I failed my ninja classes,” Minho retorted with a grin, reaching for Teresa’s hand next. The black haired girl smiled and indulged him, and Newt had to admit she looked great tonight. He never saw her in a dress before and since she apparently tried hard to look good, it came out absolutely stunning.

“Heard lots of stuff about you,” Minho commented and his eyes actually stayed at her face, even that Newt expected him to give her an obvious appraising look.

“Is that so?” she cocked her head to the side, her long earrings tinkling melodically. She had her hair pulled up, showing her long, swan-like neck and bare shoulders.

“Yeah, Newt keep on talking and talking,” Minho nudged the blond with a wink and the editor held himself only by his sheer will from sputtering.

“Oh?” she focused on the blond and her blue eyes searched his face curiously.

“I haven’t-,”

“Oh, he did,” Minho interrupted him meaningfully. “Totes said you are a lot prettier than the freak author of those monstrosities. Think he has a crush on you, but don’t tell Thomas, he is possessive.”

“Minho!” Newt growled at the Asian, but the man only grinned wider and sipped happily from his drink.

“Oh look, a dessert! Let me get some,” he suddenly exclaimed and before Newt could stop him, he was gone, strutting through the crowd and disappearing between the mass of bodies.

“Oooh, he has some good ideas, I like that new guy of yours,” Alby added and followed him without another word, leaving Newt alone with his worst nightmare – Teresa with her full attention focused on him.

He wondered what he should say and not sound forced. Compliment her dress? Or get her a drink? Pretend he feels sick and faint?

Their relationship hadn’t really changed over the month. He knew she met with Thomas few times, since the writer always told him about it (and Newt liked he was completely honest with him, he really did), but at work they mostly passed each other without a word (at the rare occasions when they actually saw each other), so the current situation made him a tad uneasy.

“He got back together with Clara,” she spoke matter-of-factly. It made Newt stop all his thoughts and stare at her.

“Seriously?”

“I think she accepted the proposal,” she continued, not leaving her eyes from Newt. “Or something along the lines. I didn’t understand the ring reference.”

“She threw the ring away,” he mumbled.

“Did she?”

“Yeah, a little overboard,” he confirmed it and wanted to add something along the lines of a planetarium pun, but stopped when he realized Teresa was smiling at him. It was a genuine smile she reserved only for Thomas for what he knew and Alby when he brought her coffee or lunch. Newt didn’t remember her smiling at him like this, ever. But here she was, all glowy, giving him a nice, warm smile that actually looked friendly. He remembered her smirks and grins, always too pleased with herself, or mischievous, but this took his eloquence away for sure.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out.

“I know,” she replied lightly.

“I was unfair,” he added nervously and she nodded.

“Me too,” she said quietly. “I could have handled it better. Thought the tough love works on you the best.”

“I guess it does,” Newt shrugged, feeling his lips forming a smile as well. A small one, almost private, tugging at his corners.

“Thomas is lucky to have you,” she touched his shoulders suddenly, a little reassuring squeeze that made him feel relieved for some reason.

“I’m hardly a lottery prize,” he chuckled and she laughed with him and her eyes twinkled happily.

“I think you’re underestimating yourself as always,” she commented softly.

“Guess you know me better than I thought,” he realized and she sighed deeply.

“Well, I’ve been your friend for two years already, of course I do,” she informed him curtly and Newt felt the guilt smashing into him with full force. For all that was worth she was right – even the little gestures showed she cared all this time. He just never noticed. Or maybe refused to notice, he wasn’t sure. But a sudden clarity made him feel bad for how he treated her this whole time, and even worse for how he snapped at her in the restaurant, and kept the ignorance up to this point stubbornly.

“Sorry,” he breathed out and her face softened once more.

“It’s fine,” she patted him on a cheek like a little kid. “Just don’t shut me out again like this.”

“No promises,” he opposed grudgingly. Promising something he wasn’t sure how to keep felt worse than telling her the ugly truth, but she grinned at him still.

“Of course, didn’t expect anything else.”

***

Newt felt proud and a little overwhelmed. Thomas’ book was a blast (something that didn’t surprise him in the slightest) and critics loved it. People in the gallery couldn’t praise him enough and when he finally, _finally_ got to the point where he should have said a few words about it, he looked so humble and nervous Newt wanted to hug him. But he stayed in the crowd, watching him with a smile on his lips and Thomas cleared his throat three times before making a joke about talking too much over the evening he was afraid of losing the voice entirely like a little mermaid.

“This book was doomed at first,” he started quietly, searching for the right words. “I started it on a whim, thought it can make me think about something nice for a chance, but each and every word felt wrong and unfitting. The whole mix sucked and I hated it.”

He got quiet for a second, gnawing on his lower lip, a gesture Newt was already very familiar with. Thomas did it every time something bothered him, or he couldn’t get the phrase right. It got usually accompanied by a worried curve of his brows.

“I wanted to give up. But then I met a very special person and he gave me all the strength I needed. He made the book alive, he embodied the main character and he gave him a form. The book wouldn’t be done without him. I wouldn’t be here without him. So if you think the book is good… which thank you by the way, the last weeks of writing were hard and I got whipped for taking a single break-,”

“Lieeees!” Newt heard Minho shout from the other side of the room and the crowd laughed. Thomas chuckled at it, searching the crowd until he settled on Newt and smiled warmly.

“So if you think the book is good, you have to turn to that guy and thank him, because he made it happen.”

And Newt facepalmed, because the whole gallery turned at him and Thomas mouthed _love you_ at him so openly it just couldn’t get any cheesier. So he just laughed and flipped him off.

***

The reception grew wilder and Thomas got snatched by too many people that he had to stay in their circle, even though he looked like he wanted to fight his way out and drag Newt somewhere private.

Newt escaped the attention right the moment he had a chance, even though people tried to get him talking, to _explain_ what exactly happened with him and Thomas, but he was faster and disappeared to the upper levels. They stayed abandoned, something he was grateful for.

Alby was too tipsy for Newt to take him seriously, Minho had too much fun with that and Teresa was making videos for future references, so when he finally found some peace and quiet at the darkened hallway, it felt right and calming.

The gallery had one more awesome feature – nice and wide balcony running along the whole west side of the building with wide railing you could sit at and watch the blinking lights in the distance.

“Got fed up of the crowds too?” he heard suddenly and almost jumped out of his skin at the voice not as far from him. It took him a little panicked searching before he spotted a figure sitting in between two columns, swinging legs like a child. Two more steps forward and he realized he was looking at Brenda with a cigarette lit up in between her red lips and a bottle of whiskey in her hand. She looked like a vamp tonight, something he didn’t know she is capable off. All dark eyes and blood lips, corset dress and garter belt.

“Aren’t you supposed to be downstairs, earning a prize or something?” he retorted a little guardedly and she snorted, holding the bottle up.

“What for? Words mean shit to me. Sit down, blondie,” she nodded towards the spot next to her and he hesitated a little before actually joining her. The stone floor was cold and he shivered at first.

“I have a name,” he informed her sternly and she hummed.

“Who doesn’t.”

“Are you drunk?” he glanced at her suspiciously and she smirked, taking a long inhale from her cigarette before offering it to her reluctant companion.

“Not yet,” she wriggled with the bottle, taking a long swing from it and Newt decided he really needed a smoke for this picture. “Was some sappy stuff he said, eh.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled.

“It’s really terrible. You’ve turned him into prince charming,” she croaked how the alcohol burned her throat. “I don’t remember him being like this before. All dreamy eyes and stupid smiles.”

“So how do you?” he asked, not really sure he wanted to know, but didn’t take it back. She shrugged, taking another sip.

“Different,” came a reply after a long silence. “He used to be… rougher.”

“Yeah?”

“Like sandpaper. You looked bad at him and you had one in your face,” she smiled bitterly. “It was a little scary. He had zero patience with stuff. Jumping into stupid shit. We had to drag him out of it afterwards.”

_He mentioned._

“Every time he did something stupid, me and Minho were the only people who still stood by him,” she continued and Newt took a huff, returning the cigarette right after, and refusing the offered bottle. “Dropping out of the school? Check. Leading a wild party night life? Check. Having sex with random strangers? Check. Falling in love with the worst possible person who shattered his heart to pieces? Oh yeah, double check.”

He wanted to ask who was it and what happened, but words got stuck in his throat after all information gathered in one go. Brenda put the bottle next to her and gazed up at the starry sky, her face a calm mask.

“She was a nasty bitch,” she said after a moment. “Had him twirled around her finger like a loyal dog. I never saw more unhealthy relationship than this one. He basically did what she told him, and trust me, those things were _bad_. I can’t even count how many times she left him and he was out of his mind from it. He was _scared_ to do anything in fear she would take it badly and abandon him. He was a fucking mess. Then she finally left him for good, after hmm… three months maybe? Not sure. He broke down completely.”

Newt felt his heart stopping at that, breath hitching in his throat. It all rushed back to him – the fear Thomas sometimes showed was so raw and painful he couldn’t stop wondering why, and now it all made sense.

“He has a bad habit to get too attached,” she threw the cigarette off the balcony and lit another, taking few puffs before giving it to the blond. He took it immediately, feeling his nerves needed it like the air. “I was trying to get his mind out of the gutter when he met you, I really did. The last time after she told him bye he wanted to kill himself. Good thing he is such a fucking coward to touch his own life. He came to me, begging for setting him up with someone bad, because I have _connections_. Something that can _end it_. I called Minho and we whipped him out of it. It took us a month before he was able to function again.”

He felt sick, but couldn’t tell her to stop. It was painful to listen to that, and not even from Thomas himself, but Brenda’s raw honesty resonated within him too deep to turn the chance down.

“You were afraid I was going to hurt him too?” he forced out and she snorted.

“My dear blondie, I was _positive_ about it,” her smile wasn’t pretty, an unfriendly gesture which made his toes curl. “And you basically _did_ , didn’t you. Told him to stuff it when he came out on you. Made him feel like a shit. _Like_ _she did_.”

“How much do you know about what happened?” he frowned, looking back at her. “That you can judge so well?”

“I’ve a good sense for bad people,” she replied calmly. “And I sensed you are a piece of shit that would use him again and spit him out.”

“Really,” he uttered and she grinned, taking her bottle again and taking another swing.

“Yep,” sounded an answer. “That’s why I trashed his phone when you appeared at his place. I managed to calm him down just enough for him to fall asleep, and bam! There you were once more, ready to deliver the final blow. No way I’d let that happen, yeah?”

“Of course,” he growled, remembering very vividly her attitude the first day he met her.

“But that bastard went after you anyway on his own accord, even that I told him not to. And you know what,” she looked him dead in the eye, her face suddenly serious he had chills. “I was fucking wrong, can you believe that?”

He only stared back at her and her face broke into a strange smile.

“I was fucking wrong,” she repeated. “You’re still here. With him. And he is a fucking prince charming.”

“I don’t know if I should feel insulted or complimented,” he said with a frown and Brenda patted him on his back, maybe too strongly for a girl.

“You will get used to it, princess,” she laughed lowly. “Because I’ve my eyes on you. You should be wary. One bad move and I’m taking an action, you hear me?”

“Do you still love him?” he ignored her threat completely and that took her by surprise, because she blinked and opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Then she sighed, turning her eyes back to the sky.

“Guess so,” she admitted after a while. “But it’s different now. Like… a mother love or something. I saw him in a too deep shit to take him seriously ever again.”

“I see.”

“You’re a good egg,” she whispered. “Don’t fuck it up.”

Newt looked at the cigarette he held and smiled.

“Yeah.”

And the small burning light disappeared in the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetad so far, we are working on it! Sorry for the inconvenience QQ
> 
> This is the complete end of the Staying up series. One-shots may commence and if you have anything you would like to know/read about these two, a prompt for a one shot before I start a completely new series, feel free to tell me and i will write a one-shot for you <3
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking to this whole thing, for reading and commenting and giving me strenght to finish it. It was super long and maybe a little exhausting, but I loved every piece of it and every reaction you gave me. Thank you so much! You are awesome <3


End file.
